


Changing the Script

by BlueBioluminescence



Series: Netflix!Murderdock [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Gwen (Comics)
Genre: Earth-65, Hints of Foggy Nelson/Matt Murdock, Matt Murderdock - Freeform, Matt is a bit of a flirt with everyone, Multi, Netflix Daredevil rewrite, because I honestly find it boring, beyond Matt being a manipulative shit, including Foggy, no real romance in this story though, so you can definitely read their relationship like that if you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBioluminescence/pseuds/BlueBioluminescence
Summary: When Matt Murdock learns that there is a Kingpin running the lions-share of organized crime in Hell's Kitchen he can't just sit back and do nothing. After all, if anyone is going to be running things it should behim.Aka: Netflix Daredevil series re-written with Sprider-Gwen's version of Matt Murdock, aka: Murderdock.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: Netflix!Murderdock [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835404
Comments: 71
Kudos: 57





	1. Into the Ring

**Author's Note:**

> I always felt that certain parts of Nexflix Daredevil would fit well into a 'Murderdock' Matt re-write and, well, here we are.  
> Also Murderdock's outfit designs are 100% inspired by [this](https://murdockquills.tumblr.com/post/622244946636898305/earth-65-kingpin-matt-murderdock-if-he-was-in-the)

### Perlude: Into the Ring 

_“Forgive me Father, not for what I have done, but for what I am about to do.”_

_\------_

“It would seem she has been successfully drugged. Would you like me to keep shadowing her?” The voice comes softly through the speaker of Matt’s phone

“No Otomo. That is all I will need from you. Have the rest of the night off.” He smiles widely, “I have a few calls to make.”

_\------_

_“Foggy Foggy Foggy_ ” his phone chimes in his ear and he hums softly as he comes out of his stance to pick it up. 

“Good Morning Foggy.”

 _“Up already? And here I was hoping that I was going to catch you sleeping in at least this once.”_ Foggy’s voice comes over the phone and Matt laughs. It’s almost genuine. 

He puts the phone onto speaker and sets it down on his bedside table before once more moving into his katas, breathing slowly through his nose as he does so. “I take it you have news for me?”

_“Hmmm. Not yet. Just reminding you that we have to meet the real estate agent in forty-five. I know how you get. You’ll end up in some kind to trance and then I’ll end up having to make decisions all on my own and you and I both know how terrible that always turns out.”_

Matt smirks at that as he moves into another sweep of movements “That Italian place was pretty terrible.”

_“Exactly, So stop whatever weird morning routine you are doing and get a move on. Oh, and try not to hit on the real estate agent this time. I thought we were trying to paint ourselves as a respectable law firm. It’s hard enough already with those outfits you choose to grace the world with.”_

Matt does bark out a laugh at that as he misses a step before he gives up all together. “And what is wrong with my clothing Mr. Nelson?”

 _“Besides the atrocious seventies patterns, the bright eye-straining colors, and the mismatched socks?”_ Foggy offers with a laugh on the other end of the phone, _“All right, shake it. I gotta go bribe a cop.”_

“Ah, Foggy-” he starts, a smirk still covering his own face at Foggy’s blase attitude. It is one of the reasons he keeps the man around. 

_“Kidding, NSA, if you're listening.”_ Foggy quickly pipes up, voice just as relaxed as ever, as if Matt hadn’t been the one to call him the night before with instructions to bribe said cop this morning. _“But seriously, yeah, I gotta go bribe a cop. Talk to you later Matty. And wear the red. You look good in red.”_

Matt’s still smiling as the call ends and he moves to go shower. He kicks aside the bloody clothing on his bathroom floor as he does so, hearing them squelch against the tile. Foggy wants him to wear red? Well, given his activities last night it only seems fitting. 

_  
\------ _

“You've got a reception area, a conference room and two offices. Corner suite has a view of the Hudson. You can flip a coin with your partner for it.” A woman's voice says as Matt approaches the offices they were meant to view that morning. Three stories up and relatively undamaged. Her voice fills the area, illuminating it in Matt’s mind so he can get the feel for the whole floor. Above their heads he can hear rats scurrying and somewhere, deep in the basement he can smell the rot that has long since taken hold in the foundation. It is perfectly imperfect. The exact image he intends to project.

“He can have the view.” He says, cane tapping gently in front of him as he does so. He’s smiling in a way that Foggy has told him looks like a shark and it only grows as he hears what must be the realtor floundering. He senses her extend her hand to him which he ignores. There is a sound next to her and a whiff of Foggy’s scent before he narrates: “She just curtsied for you Matt. It was adorable.”

Matt is certain that it wasn’t but he is willing to continue his friendly act. “Matt Murdock. I take it that my business partner has let you know to expect me?”

“Yes. Um. yes.” She stutters and her heart is hammering in what is likely nervousness brought on by attraction. He is used to the response so it’s easy to ignore.

“Well then, please don’t let me stop you. As you were saying?” He indicates with a hand and she stumbles over her next few words before finally catching herself and continuing her tour as Foggy saddles up next to him. “Your socks are green. Bright neon green.”

“Are they?” he smirks as he takes Foggy’s offered arm as it lightly bumps against his side. “I had no idea.”

They take the office space and, across Hell’s Kitchen, Matt can hear as Karen Page starts to panic, finding herself coming to with a knife and blood on her hands. 

_\------_

“Hey, buddy.” Foggy answers his phone on the second ring as they are carefully unpacking their meager supplies. On the other end of the line he can hear Brett’s voice and smiles, it seems their little bribe paid off. 

_“Homicide.”_ Brett’s voice supplies _“Female suspect found at the scene. Definitely qualifies as interesting.”_

“She's been charged yet?” Foggy asks and Matt can hear him casually shuffling through his boxes, almost seeming uninterested. If it wasn’t for his heart Matt would almost buy it.

_“Assistant DA hasn't made the call yet.”_

Foggy humms. “Do you have a name on the suspect?”

 _“Yeah. Page.”_ And he hears Foggy’s hand pause, there is a shuffle of clothing and Matt is pretty sure it means Foggy has turned to look at him, even though Matt’s own back is to Foggy. _“Karen Page.”_

“We’ll be right there.” Foggy replies slowly, “Don’t let anyone else scoop her up and I promise not to bring cigars to your mom for at least a month.”

“Make it two.”

“Deal.” Foggy’s phone clicks off and Matt turns his body in Foggy’s direction. 

“Karen Page hu?” Foggy asks suspiciously and Matt just lets out a thoughtful humm, rocking back and forth on his heels, balancing himself on his cane. 

“Well,” Foggy sighs after a moment, “Let’s go get her.” 

_\------_

“Okay, can we please take the handcuffs off the 110-pound woman?” Foggy says indignant as they come into the room, his voice lighting up the place as always to allow Matt a moment to detect the edges of it. It’s a simple box with a table, three chairs, one of which is occupied by a figure that smells of drugs, alcohol, day old sweat, and blood.

“Miss Page, can you tell me who these men are?” The detective that brought them in askes the figure at the table, Miss Page, and Matt is having none of that. The Man’s heart has been a crescendo in his ear the moment they walked in the door and he is not about to be turned away, not after all the work he put in to orchestrate all of this.

“We're her lawyers.” He cuts in, voice razor sharp, “Uncuff our client and get out of the room.” It is a demand, not a request, and he can smell the scent of fear as it fills the air. There is a shuffling and the sound of metal on metal as the cuffs are removed before two bodies, the detective and the cop he brought with him, shuffle out of the room around him. 

“Thank you, Detective.” He smiles in the direction of the movement and is only met with the sound of both of their hearts speeding up in fear. 

“Miss Page,” He hears Foggy say over the scrape of a chair on cheap tile, “My name is Foggy Nelson. This is my associate, Matt Murdock. Do you mind if we sit down?” They both wait and then, finally: “She gave a vague shrug. I say we go with it.”

“We understand you're in some trouble.” Matt says smoothly as he takes his own seat, hearing Foggy do the same beside him. “I believe we may be able to help. That is, if you are willing to tell us what happened?”

Foggy picks up immediately after he finishes speaking and there is the sound of a pen clicking and a gentle waft of paper in the air that tells Matt that Foggy is preparing to take notes. “Why don't we start with what we know and then you can fill in the blanks?” It’s a gentle offer but Miss Page, sitting across from them, doesn’t seem to calm much at it. Instead she seems to become a little more nervous. Matt knows what is about to come, the way Foggy can use his voice to paint a specific picture, a specific way of viewing the world that makes you question if your own is right or if you’ve just been misled your whole life. He thinks the reaction is fitting. 

“You were found in your apartment, with one Daniel Fisher. Who appears to be the victim of a homicide,” He starts and Matt only just keeps the smirk off his face as Matt recognizes the tone of Foggy’s voice. The Tone that says ‘These are the facts and unless you listen to me then these are exactly how the facts are going to stay. “Lot’s of stab wounds. _Very_ bloody. Knife found _in your hands._ That’s not looking good for you Miss Page. Especially since,” and ah, the dramatic pause, Matt can only imagine that Foggy is looking up from his notes and making eye contact across the table at Miss Page. “you are currently the only suspect.”

He hears the woman draw in a sharp breath, Foggy’s words having gotten to her. “Who the hell are you guys?” She asks, voice choked. 

“I'm Matt.” Matt cuts in, his voice maybe a little too happy given Foggy’s harsh recap of events. “He's Foggy.” he waves his hand in Foggy’s direction. 

“Who sent you?”

“No one sent us.” Matt laughs lightly, “We’re just a couple of good semerataines looking for a job.”

“And what?” Karen asks and with the way he can hear her hair moving he is certain she is turning her head to look between them. “Today's just my lucky day?”

“Actually I bribed the desk sergeant with a box of cigars for his mom.” Foggy explains and Matt feels his shoulder shaking with a silent laugh at Foggy’s bluntness, but with the way his words seemed to make Miss. Page’s heart slow just a little it was the right thing to say. 

“You see Miss Page, Our practice is relatively young,” He explains, sweeping his hands out slightly, “We have been practicing -” he pauses, thinking, “What time is it Foggy?”

“It's 12:22 a.m.”

“We have been practicing for seven hours and we are _aggressively_ pursuing new clientele.” He explains carefully, “I doubt that you have money Miss Page, at least, not enough for the kind of attorney you would need to get yourself out of this mess, and we don't have any clients. I am certain we can come to an agreement to help each other.”

He hears her swallow nervously, she is starting to realize she doesn’t have much of a choice. Good. “You've never done this before?”

“If you were to hire us, then, yes, you would be our first client.” Matt says, and with the shuddering breath she takes he knows that they have broken her. “Tell me, how did you know Mr. Fisher?”

“We worked together.” she gives in and next to him Foggy starts writing.   
  


_\------_

“I'm friends with Gary Feinstein in the DA's office.” Foggy says, his pacing back and forth across the floor of their new offices highlighted by the wood creaking with his every step. Foggy has a lot of ‘friends’, far more than Matt, and they are oh so convenient. “I'll give him a call first thing in the morning, see where their heads are at. I'm guessing they're gonna puff their chests, but they have to know murder two's a risk. We end up at manslaughter, we get the right judge, pull a few strings, maybe she's out in five to ten…” And Matt can’t help but chuckle, cutting off Foggy’s planning. He hears Foggy’s body turn towards him and Matt only leans further over his own desk, head resting comfortably on top of his laces fingers.

“You can’t see it but I’m giving you an incredulous look Murdock. Spill, what’s so funny?” Foggy asks and Matt smirks up at him

“We're not taking a deal.”

“We’re...not?” Foggy asks slowly and he is moving forward now, hesitantly. Creak creak creak go the floorboards.

“No. We are not.” Matt purrs and shift forwards slightly as Foggy takes the chair across from him. “Haven’t you wondered Foggy, Why hasn't she been charged yet?” 

“Well they have 24 hours.” Foggy says, obviously stumped on where this is going “And it's the weekend. They're probably gonna take every last second to collect the evidence before they move.”

Matt hums gently in agreement and shrugs his shoulder. “In any other case I would agree, but as you have already laid out so expertly: They've got the evidence. This is a good arrest, Foggy. We both know it. We should already be reading about it in the papers. Which means-”

“There's something not right.” Foggy finishes with a sigh, the sound of his hair moving tells Matt he has done something with his head, likely hung it in defeat. “You sure about this Matty? Her name…”

“I know.” Matt cuts him off and hears Foggy swallow. 

“I’m not going to ask. That’s the deal. But if you are sure.”

“I’m sure I need you to back me on this one Fogs.” he prompts and he hates himself that he almost means it. Across from him Foggy sighs again. 

“All right. Fine.” His clothing shuffles and Matt can tell he is getting ready to get down to business, “Let's start with the obvious, then. If she didn't do it, who did? Don’t answer that.” Foggy adds, a hand coming up quick enough that Matt’s senses easily pick it up, “I don’t want to know, but we're dead in the water if we don't give them an alternative.”

“Agreed.” Matt says, shifting back in his own chair “We need to take another run at our client. Maybe we can pick something else up. Something that we are missing.” And oh, Matt certainly hopes that he read Miss Page right and that she is the kind of person we has done _exactly_ what he expects her to do. 

_\------_

“I'm gonna make this easy, Detectives.” Matt hissed from across the table. He was _not_ amused by this development _at all_ and if Miss Page hadn’t been as feisty as she was there was a _damn_ good chance she would be dead right now and all of Matt’s careful planning to even make _this_ small of an opening for himself would have been worthless. “Get the ADA in here to release Miss Page. Now. and we'll recommend to our _charming_ , very _media-friendly_ client that she not plaster the airwaves with how she was nearly killed in your custody.” After all, there was a reason Matt had made sure to select a beautiful, thin, white woman for this little job. At least Foggy had assured him that that was what she looked like when he had asked a few weeks back. He trusted Foggy not to lie to him. Or well, Foggy _couldn’t_ lie to him but that was neither here nor there. 

“And I'll agree not to make cooing noises for the rest of this meeting,” Foggy adds in, smug to contrast Matt’s seething anger, “when I think of the civil suit that we have on our hands.” There is a smirk to Foggy’s voice and Matt loves it. 

“How do you know they're not charging her?” The detective presses and he’s nervous again, agitated. Matt knows he’s one of the ones that’s been bought out. 

“Besides the fact that you were required to do so,” He hears Foggy move, checking his watch “four hours ago… if you were gonna do it at all?” Foggy prompts and it almost breaks through Matt’s ire.

“That's an excellent question.” Matt says, his voice becoming silk as he finally takes his own seat, his chair scraping angrily against the floor as he pulls it out, “Along with how the security cameras on Miss Page's detention area went on the fritz right before the assault.”

“Yeah, we'd like to speak to Mr. Farnum about that, as well as what-” Foggy picks up but is cut off by the detective and Matt wants the man’s head for daring to do so. 

“Get in line. Everyone wants to talk to him right now.”

“Get my client released.” Matt bites out, his anger back on full display, “Don't make me ask again.”

“I'll call the ADA.” The detective says, standing, “But you take that tone with me again, I don't care if you're blind, I'll kick the shit out of you.”

“Oh detective,” Matt smirks widely at the threat, his hand tightening around his cane, “I would _love_ to see you try.” 

_\------_

“We have tea now?” Matt asks as he feels the familiar scent of cammamelle fill the air as Foggy returns from their small connected kitchen. 

“I stole it from the financial office next door.” He explains as he walks past where Matt is sitting and goes to Miss Page instead, handing her the cup that is lighting up in Matt’s senses with the heat coming off of it. “How are you holding up?”

“Better.” She mumbles softly, her hands glowing as they wrap around the cup, “Thanks for getting me out.”

“Don't thank us yet.” Foggy signs and takes the vacant seat to Matt’s right. “Just because they released you doesn't mean they won't eventually bring charges.”

“Which means it's crucial you don't speak to anyone other than the two of us about what happened.” Matt finishes and he senses Miss Page shift. 

“I don't have anyone to talk to, anyway.” She mumbles and Matt forces himself to look sympathetic and like he didn’t also select her for that additional specific fact. 

“Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?” Foggy asks gently, picking up when Matt is silent for too long.

“My apartment's not far-” She starts but Matt holds up a hand. 

“No. No you can't go back there. Chances are there are people out there still trying to kill you. You can come and stay with me instead.” 

He hears Karen’s heart speed up at that, her hands tightening around the cup in her hands. “Are you sure that’s okay?” 

“More than okay. Miss Page.” Matt reasurs her with a smile, “It would be my honor.” 

_\------_

“I don't have much in the way of food,” He offers as he opens the door to his apartment for her, “but there's a Thai place on the corner. If we order now, it should get here by the time I make up the bedroom for you.”

“It's a little dark in here.” She mumbles and Matt looks up and glances around.

“Really?” He fakes squinting behind his glasses, “I never noticed.” he says before laughing as she stutters beside him, “The light switch is on the wall to your left.” He instructs, moving further into his apartment and leaving her behind at the door, “So food? I’m ordering something even if you aren't.” He sing-songs over to her as he moves to his bedroom. 

“Uh, no, I'm not…” She continued to stutter and honestly, Matt is both flattered and annoyed. “Would you have a shirt I could borrow, maybe? This one's a little wet. And i’m not a hellion’s fan” She says, lifting up the shirt Foggy had given her earlier which is soaking wet from the rain that had started up outside. 

“Let me grab something for you, though if Foggy isn’t lying to me I can’t say it’s going to be a great improvement.” He laughs as he goes into his drawer and grabs the first t-shirt he can feel, not bothering to find out what it is. “Here you go.” He says, holding the shirt out in a random direction, just because he can. He hears her shuffle over to him and take it and he is a little supposed to hear her change right in front of him. Interesting. And usable. 

“I can't put you out of your bedroom.” She says softly and he knows it's an opening even as she adds, “I'll be just fine on the couch.” It another circumstance he might actually take her up on the offer, after all he is always happy for some casual sex, but as it is he needs her to sneak out tonight and head back to her apartment and him being in bed with her? It was unlikely to make her confident enough to make a break for it.

Instead he waves a hand around his living room. “Whatever you want, but from what I understand about my living room, It might not be the best place to sleep.” 

He waites, patiently for her to catch on before laughing as she lets out a loud “Holy shit!” as she seemed to finally realize that his living room was, apparently, a light show. 

“I’m told it’s very distressing.” He smirked at her as she moved over towards his windows, “It went up a year ago. Flashing lights. Apparently the sighted are not large fans of it.”

“Uh ya. No. not...not really.” She answers and he chuckles, moving away from her towards his kitchen, slipping off his shoes as he goes and fishing his phone out of his pocket. He places a quick order for Thai. Miss Page, Karen, was quiet as he did so, not adding in anything that she wanted so he didn’t bother to offer again. If she wanted food she could deal with it herself at this point. 

“Can I ask a personal question?” Her voice flowed over to him once he had hung up the phone and moved to make himself some tea. 

“No. I haven't always been blind.” He replies automatically as he feels for his favorite tea pot and pulls it down before going to fill his kettle with water. 

“I guess that's what everyone wants to know.” She mumbles in reply. She is shifting awkwardly, swaying in his senses as her wet cloths drip in her hand. She hasn’t moved from where he had left her by his windows. 

“That or, How do you comb your hair? Tea?" He offers, holding up a cup in her general direction.

“No that’s...That’s okay.” She hesitates, “How do you comb your hair?”

He smirks and opens a tea bag as he puts it in his own cup, “Honestly, you just...You hope for the best.” Which was true. He was willing to give her a few truthful answers if it gets her to open up. He has his own questions and he is more than happy to play a little tit-for-tat. He can play the innocent and concerned blind man just as easily as anything else, even if it’s not his favorite mask.

“You want to sit?” He offers, moving over to his couch and lightly touching his coffee table before putting down his cup. He listens as she moves over, taking a seat next to him instead of the chairs across from him which is promising. 

“How did it happen?” She asks as he takes a sip of his tea.

“Car accident. When I was nine.”

“Must have been rough.” She mumbles sympathetically and he bites back a smile. 

“Yes.” He agrees, “But I made it through. My eyesight was a small price to pay to be alive.” 

She is silent for another moment, fidgeting beside him “Do you remember what it was like…”

“To see?” He finishes for her and shrugs “Yes, I remember.” and oh, time to sink the hook in a little deeper, “You know, I'm supposed to say I don't miss it. That's what they teach you in trauma recovery. Define yourself by what you have, value the differences, make no apologies for what you lack. And it's all true, for the most part...but it doesn't change the fact that I…” He hesitates, using the silence to give weight to his next words, “I'd give anything to see the sky one more time.”

“I can't imagine what that must be like.” She breaths and Matt shrugs as he puts his tea cup back down. Got her.

“Be thankful that you don’t.” He comments as he turns slightly on the couch to face her, “Do you mind if I ask you some questions now?”

She hesitates, thinking, he is pretty sure that she is facing him now there is a small movement and more silence before finally, “Uh...Go ahead.”

He smirks “You just nodded, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” She sounds embarrassed but he is used to it. Foggy is the only person that bothers to tell him what he is physically doing, even knowing that Matt doesn’t necessarily need it for larger motions. Still, it’s always so entertaining how flushed people get when faced with his blindness. 

“Do you know who's trying to kill you?” He jumps right in, while she is still off balance by her fopaux. 

“What? No!” Truth.

“Do you know why they're trying to kill you?”

Hesitation “Yes.” truth. He indicates for her to keep going. 

“I, uh, work...Worked in the financial department at Union Allied.” She stumbles on “They're overseeing the bulk of the government contracts for the West Side reconstruction.”

“I’m aware of their work.” Matt assures her and she nods again. Matt doesn’t comment on it. 

“RIght. Right. I um...The last two years have transformed the business. There's new owners, new grants, new contracts.” Matt also knows all of this, He has been keeping an eye on Union Allied for a while now. 

“And, let me guess, Union Allied benefited from every dollar of charity given to Hell’s Kitchen for the rebuild initiative?”

She nods again and Matt sighs. She doesn’t give a ‘yes’ but she is talking before he can bring it up. “I was the secretary for the chief accountant. And one of my jobs was to coordinate the pension claims for the company.” The couch squeaks slightly indicating that she has shifted “About a week ago, I was emailed a file called, ‘Pension Master.’ It must have been meant for my boss, but I made the mistake of opening it.”

“I'm guessing it wasn't the pension fund.” Matt prompted. He knows it was not, after all, he was the one that ensured this file went to her and not her boss. 

“No. No it wasn’t It...the money in it. It was, I’ve never seen that kind of money and it...it was coded routing numbers, a _lot_ of money.”

And this, this is what he really needed to know “What did you do with the file?”

She histates, her heart speeding up, scared, “I told my boss, Mr. McClintock, about it. He laughed it off. Said that it was a theoretical model that they were screwing around with.”

Matt hums at that, shifting more in her direction as he leans forward, his arm resting across the back of his couch as he does so. “Well, let me paint a picture for you Miss Page. Say I'm the man in charge of the pension funds and I find out one of my secretaries has discovered my illicit activity. To make matters worse, she's now telling people about said activity.” Her breath catches and he smiles, just a little “that is how you knew the victim isn’t it Miss Page? He was going to help you with this little file you found.” 

She nods and Matt holds back a frustrated nose as he just keeps his hand from balling into his fist. “Miss Page I _need_ a verbal response from you.” He tries not to bite out too harshly, “I cannot _see.”_

“Y-Yes. Yes.” She quickly amends and he has set her off balance again, hopefully not too much this time. 

“Right. Going back, I find out my secretary is sharing my illegal activities with others which, obviously, I can't have. So I decide to take action. But why don't I kill you?”

“They tried.” She replies and he cuts her off.

“Yeah, the second time. In the jail. But the first time, they left you alive. Why?” he shuffles forward that little bit more and his knee touches her leg, “What were they trying to do?” He whispers, “Frame you? Now, the second time,” he backs off slightly, “maybe that's a change of plan. Something doesn't go their way, something sloppy at the crime scene. Then two lawyers show up out of the blue before their people can get to you. So they figure, okay, maybe Karen hangs herself in her cell, and this thing gets swept under the rug. But the first time…” he waves his hand in the air, it sparkles in his perception. “The first time, they're not trying to kill you. They're trying to discredit you. They're trying to scare you.” He presses, planting the seeds in her mind. He needs her to believe this, needs her to believe _him._ “And the only reason that they would do that...is if you have something that they want.”

He moves back fully then, pulling away from her and listens as she takes a shuddering breath as he instead turns and grabs his tea once more happily bringing it back up to his mouth and taking a slow sip as he listens to Karen’s heart thundering next to him. 

“So, I've been trying to think about what that could be,” He says once he has swallowed, facing his coffee table instead of her now. “and the only thing I've come up with...is the Union Allied pension file.” He tilts his head sideways, listening intently. “Did you keep the file, Karen?”

“No.” Lie.

He smirks. Perfect. 

_\------_

Karen’s apartment complex is familiar ground, after all he _was_ just here the other night making sure she wasn’t killed and framing her for murder. He hums happily from where he stands on the roof waiting, enjoying a job well done. He had heard her sneak out of his apartment in the late hours of the night and swiftly moved to change into his new fighting gear and follow after her from the roofs. It felt odd to get dressed up for such an occasion, the fully black outfit and mask tied tight around his head, but, well, he could hardly let her know who he was, so the obvious choice was a secret identity.

“Are you sure this is wise Master Murdock?” Otomo asks from next to him as Matt tracks the sound of two bodies in Karen’s apartment and Matt smiles _wide._

“Wise? No. But fun? Absolutely.”

_\------_

He broke down the door with one swift kick. He hasn’t brought his sword, it would be too tempting to kill this man if he had it, too fast and easy, and so he keeps to his fists and legs. Not that he couldn’t kill just as easily with those, but it was harder to make an unfortunate mistake. 

The fight inside is fast and brutile, the man has a knife and Matt can’t keep the grin off his face as he easily dodges the swipes, meeting them with blows of his own, throwing him into the nearby coffee table and listening to the satisfying ‘crunch’ of it as the man hits. This person is trained though, it had been a while since he had had the opportunity to fight someone _trained_ . The Hand’s soldiers that he commanded here in New York were always so reluctant to spar with him, probably because he killed them without hesitation, and he knew Otomo too well now for a fight with him to be a challenge. No, _this_ was far more entertaining. 

A cracked rib, a broken wrist, and a tumble against the wall later, Matt manages to get his arms around the man’s neck before he is thrashing, tossing them both violently out of the window behind them and down, down, to the concrete below. Matt’s ears rang as he laughs, feeling blood pouring from his mouth as he did so, his hands moving under him to push himself back up. Merdock’s don’t stay down. They never stay down. 

The rain illuminates the world around him which makes it a dizzying distraction with too much information and not enough all at the same time. Smell is always muffled in the rain, along with certain sounds, but the rain itself paints a too vibrant image that bounces off of everything and flows into every crack and crevice as it moves, making it difficult for him to focus and filter out the unimportant information. 

_There_ the sound of a footstep on metal, a person coming down the structure next to him. Beside him, a ways away, the man’s knife, making that very specific sound that you get when water hits metal, the man grabbing it and-

Matt moves and the fight starts once more, with punches and kicks and full body tackles. It is rough and raw, out here in the rain, there was little finesse to it. This was not a dance, there are no choreographed movements like the fights that the Hand trained him with, this was a _beating_ and oh, how he revels in it. 

He grabs the Man’s wrist holding the knife and listens as he drops it, only to grab it with the other hand, giving Matt only moments to drudge the next swipe, listening as it cuts through the rain around them. A third swipe and Matt ducks and then Matt was on him again, not giving him a moment as he lands a solid punch, before grabbing his arms and flipping him over hearing the satisfying ‘crack’ of breaking bones as he twisted the man's arm violently across his body.

Still the man does not stay down and behind him Matt can hear the sound of a chain as it hits the scaffold at his back. A plan starts to form in his mind as he spits out blood between his lips and waits for the other man’s next move. He doesn’t have to wait long as the man lunges at him and Matt’s hand wraps around the chain behind him, bringing it up to wrap around the man’s wrist and then higher, around his neck, tight but not enough to kill, just enough to hold him in place and, oh then it was just time for some _fun._ The man strung up before him like a punching bag and it is so simple then to hit and hit and hit until he stops moving.

He would not kill this man though, no, Whoever the person running this whole mess is, this ‘kingpin’ would do that for him, and the more this ‘kingpin’ killed he more Matt would have against them to bring them down as Matt twisted the justice system in his favor. 

“Who…” A voice calls out from beside him from one of the parts of the world he had been filtering out which now comes flooding back to him as the voice reaches his ears. “What the hell?” He paused in his search for the flashdrive he knew the man had, taking a moment before realizing it was Karen, getting his first real ‘look’ at the shape of her under the rain. 

“I'll get this into the right hands.” He said, holding up the flashdrive, by which he meant the newspapers. Now that he has witnesses and verification, this little set-up was ready to be published. 

“No, you can't.” She cuts him off as he moves to leave and he pauses, hesitating. Wondering if she was about to betray him, not that she knew it was him, but he needed her willing to _talk._ “You can't take it to the police. You can't trust anyone.”

Ah. That was it then. He smirks widely “Then we tell everyone.”

_\------_

Foggy reads him the news report the next morning as they sit drinking the tea he had stolen from next door in the comfort of their new offices.

“I take it by that smirk on your face that this was the outcome you were hoping for?” 

Matt hums in agreement, his legs kicked up on the plastic table they had placed in the middle of their main room. “I thought you didn’t want to know about my extracurricular activities.” 

He hears Foggy sigh as he places the newspaper down. “I don’t, but you are beaten to hell and back Matty, you can’t see that black eye but I can. And, let me tell you, It clashes terribly with those purple and orange socks you are wearing.”

“I swore I grabbed the blue pair today.”

“Well, Sorry to tell you this bud.” Foggy says, smacking him on the shoulder and causing Matt to wince, “But you’re blind. Those socks are definitely purple and orange and they definitely don’t match your outfit or _each other_.”

Matt laughs happily at that as a knock comes to the door and Foggy gets up to go answer it. Matt already knows it’s Karen on the other side, with some kind of food dish. It would seem that his little plan went off even better than expected if she is still coming around. He kicks his feet off the table and allows himself to be served her ‘thank you’ meal as he starts to plan his next steps. After all, he is certain there are about to be a _lot_ of deaths piling up given the hole Matt has punched through this ‘KingPin’s’ little operation and Matt, well, Matt doesn’t plan on giving him the opportunity to patch things up. He is having far too much fun for that.


	2. Cut Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt finds out that his nighttime activities are starting to get noticed by the neighborhood In an...interesting way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: We get some glimpses into how the Hand trained Matt in this chapter, along with some hints as to stuff happening with them in the background. 

### The Russians Part 1: Cut Man

_Addiction is not a disease, it is an adaptation. It’s not you, it’s the cage you live in._

_\-------_

He was addicted, he knew that the moment he stopped just targeting the kingpin's little operation and started going after petty thefts too. What was he thinking, picking fights with any two brained idiot that decided to rob a bodega or steal a purse? These people were _nothing._ Hardly worth his time, his energy, a waste of his training. The training he had suffered _years_ to perfect.

And yet he could not stop, every punch was like nirvana and every kick was like a drug. The feeling of his gloved hands meeting flesh again and again, the smell of fear that filled the air as he beat one person after another, the snap of bone: nose, wrist, arm, each was like a symphony until finally there was no one left fighting and he was all alone: Victorious. 

He did not kill them. They were not worth the effort it would take to clean up. To bring Otomo in, to call his soldiers, To hide the bodies and make sure that they were not found. Instead he covered his face just as he had done that night at Miss Page's apartment when he _couldn't_ kill his targets. He put on a _costume_ and spent his time in these mockery of fights. They were below him. This was below him.

And yet, here he was.

\-------

He did not think too hard about why he went after the Russian’s first. It did not matter why he was doing it, why he had chosen them as the first piece of the Kingpin’s puzzle to dismantle. Why he intended to dismantle it _completely_ instead of taking it over. He did not let himself _think_. 

Which was probably why he ended up here. 

“No,” He bit out harshly, his body wracked with pain as he grabbed the wrist of the person hovering above him, He could _feel_ the electric tingle of the phone in their hands, his nerves pitched up to 11. “no calls.” His own phone had been crushed in the fight, Otomo was nowhere to be found, and _how they would be talking about that later._ But right now there would be no calls. He had survived worse. He had survived much worse.

But oh, how the Hand would be so disappointed if they found out. 

“It's okay. I'm just trying to help.” The voice was gentle and soft above him and he snarled up at it, a caged and wounded animal. 

“No! No calls. No hospitals. No paramedics.” He hissed, trying to grab the persons collar to pull them down and failing, his perception of the world muddled and wrong. “They will kill everyone there and then they will kill _me._ No hospitals.” 

“Who?” The person prompts and his head is spinning. He is _angry_ . How could he have let this _happen._ How had his information been so _wrong?_ Or was it that he hadn’t thought before he lept? What _was_ it?

He couldn’t remember.

Where was Otomo? 

“They'll kill everyone in the hospital,” He repeated, “all to get to me. I _cannot_ go there.”

He tries to move, tries to stand. He needs to find Otomo. He needs to figure out what went wrong. He needs to call Foggy. He _needs -_

“Don't!” The voice cries out as he stumbles up. “You've lost a lot of blood. I think you might have been stabbed.”

“I don’t care.” He snarls. Door, where is the _door_ ? Why aren’t his senses _working_ right?

“You wanna leave?” The person snarls in return from behind him and, ah, seems he had finally annoyed his savior long enough, “Door's that way.” and they are doing something, pointing probably, and it’s on the edge of his swimming perception. He turns and the world goes black.

\-------------

 _Daddy!_ A voice screams in his head and he can’t tell if it’s a memory or if it’s real. It hurts. It _always_ hurts.

\---------

“Are you gonna listen to me this time?” That voice asks again. He is clear enough now to tell that it is a woman’s voice. She is hovering over him once more but he is no longer on a floor. There is a softness of a couch behind his back.

He licks his lips. 

“Where am I?” His voice is rough. He recognizes it from times before. How did he let this happen? How had he fallen for such an obvious trap?

His ears ring for a moment and he only catches the tail end of what the woman above him says. “-my apartment.”

“Who are you?” He pressed on, harsh, demanding. Where is Otomo? Why is he not _here?_

The woman scoffs. “I'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage.”

“You've seen my face.” It’s a statement, not a question. She has seen his face. He has not yet thought of what to do about that fact.

“Yeah.”

“Others?” He asks, trying to sit up and fails, his body a hot-wire of pain. 

“What?”

“How many others have seen my face?”

“Just me.” Lie. 

Great.

“Your outfit kind of sucks, by the way.” He laughs at that. It hurts.

“It's a work in progress.” He smirks widely, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he should invest in some armor. His smile turns self-deprecating at the thought. Armor. The Hand would be so disappointed. 

They likely already were, if they had been watching. 

“I’m thinking red.” He adds, turning his smirk slightly in her direction, “you know, to hide the blood.”

The woman does not seem impressed by the joke and instead starts listing his injuries. “You've got two or three broken ribs, probable concussion, some kind of puncture wound, and that's just the stuff that I know about.” She goes on. She smells like antiseptic, blood, and some scented shampoo. An artificial kiwi scent. Disgusting. “And your eyes,” she presses, “they're non-responsive to light, which isn't freaking you the hell out, so either you're blind or in way worse shape than I thought.”

He again laughs at that, deep in his chest, it rattles something in there which doesn’t sound good. He forces himself to remember his training. It’s just pain. It’s just pain. It’s _just-_

“Do I have to pick one?” He asks, the words coming out breathless rather than teasing. Where is Foggy? He should have her call Foggy. He was the one to help Matt last time the Hand-

No. He’s getting his memories confused. This time was not the Hand. This was the Russians.

 _Does it matter?_ He asks himself _either way I am alone to scrape myself up off the floor. The Hand does not heal. You either find a way to fix yourself, or you die._

“Do you mind telling me how a blind man in a mask ends up beaten half to death in my dumpster?” The woman is asking and he ignores it. 

“You a Doctor?” He asks instead, trying to sit up once more. 

“Will you stop that?!” The woman yells and there is a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. He hadn’t noticed her move. “I’m pretty damn sure that’s a knife wound on your side so just stop.”

“Doubt that’s the worst of my injuries.” He comments, cringing as he can’t even bring up the strength to resist her.

“It’s not. But I can't tell how bad it is internally without a full series of X-rays-“

“I can. And it’s _fine.”_ He insists, though it would be easier to get a full stock of his body if he could move around and listen to what it is doing. He can hear a slight hissing sound, like air deflating from a tire. That could be a problem later. “Are you a _Doctor?”_ He pressed again, more demanding this time. If she isn’t then that hissing is likely going to kill him and, oh how utterly embarrassing that would be.

Matt Murdock, man feared by the Hand and the Chaste across the world, killed by a bunch of goons for the Russian Mob. How _tragic_.

“This is my night off.” The woman replies. It’s not a lie but the hesitant way she says it makes him think it’s not the whole truth. “Look, I'm really not looking for some guy to die on my couch. I would prefer to take you to a hospital.”

“Unless you want everyone in that hospital dead you won’t.” He says and she tenses beside him. 

“You’ve said that before. Is it a threat?” She asks and he smiles, his split lip pulling open once more and dripping blood onto his teeth.

“It’s a promise.”

He hears her swallow nervously “From you? Or someone else?”

He doesn’t answer, just licks at the blood filling his mouth. 

“You know,” he starts after a moment, tongue chasing the taste of iron, “Most people, they find a bleeding masked man in the garbage, they call the police.” He prompts and he can sense the hesitant way the woman is moving around him now, perhaps only just realizing what she has brought into her home. Doctors are always like that aren’t they? Save a life first, ask questions later. It’s very _noble_ of them.

“You got a lot of experience in this area?” She asks instead of answering and so he goes for the more blunt approach.

“Why are you helping me?” He demands.

“I’m starting to think,” she says slowly, “The less we know about each other, the better.”

Ah. Smart woman. Maybe he won’t kill her after all. Though he supposes that will all depend on how many people here saw his face.

“Rest.” She goes on when he doesn’t grace her with a response, “I need to make sure you're stabilized. We'll...figure the other stuff out later.”

 _Like the fact that I have seen your face and know you’re blind._ Goes unsaid but it hangs in the air like the blade of a guillotine, he just wonders which one of them is under it. 

———-

 _Daddy!_ A scream fills the air, reverberating across Hell’s Kitchen.

 _Daddy!_ The boy screams.

_Daddy!_

_I can't -_

_I can’t see!_

———

He wakes with a gasp that doesn’t fill his lungs and remembers what he had forgotten earlier. That hissing noise, the slow release of air from somewhere inside of him. His lung. 

“What is it? What's wrong?” The woman’s voice again, over him, he can’t draw a breath. 

“I can't-“ he gasps again, “breathe. Can't-“ there is cold metal on his chest, listening. It’s a collapsed lung he wants to tell her but can’t get the breath. He’s familiar with them, knows what needs to be done, but he can’t get the breath to _tell_ her.

If she had been lying about being a doctor then he is dead. 

“You've got air in your chest. It's collapsing your lung.” She says and if he wasn’t on the verge of panic and seething anger at his own stupidity - why did he let himself fall asleep? Why? Why did he forget to _tell_ her - he would have felt relief. “I'm gonna relieve the pressure, but I'm gonna need you to hold still, okay? This is gonna hurt.” She instructs and he wants to laugh. He has done this to himself with a knife and a _straw,_ if he hadn’t fallen asleep and let it get so bad he could have done so again this time too. This pain will be nothing.

“Here we go.” A sharp jab and the sound of air rushing out of his chest. “Good. Good. Just breathe normal.” Her tone is comforting. It’s hilarious. 

He can’t bring himself to laugh.

——-

“All right. Look…” she says later, after his breathing has evened out and he is feeling surprisingly better for it. “let's just say for the sake of discussion I buy this whole, ‘We can't go to the hospital because everyone will die’ story you've got going on. We need to talk about what happens if you give up the ghost here in my living room.” She is messing with her tools, organizing them or putting them away maybe, or maybe just keeping herself busy. “Because I'm listening to myself explain to the police how I let this happen, and every version ends with me in handcuffs, so convince me it's worth it.”

He licks his lips. If he dies here the Hand will come for his body and then everyone in this apartment building will conveniently disappear. Likely in a building fire. Dead, all of them, bodies destroyed. Very clean and efficient. She wouldn’t have to worry about being arrested, because she would be dead.

He doesn’t tell her that though. Because he knows people enough to know it won’t go over well. Usually he wouldn’t care. Usually it would be a fun threat, but right now; not so much. 

He stays silent. 

She sighs over him and he hears the creaking of wood beside him as she takes a seat on her coffee table. “You know, I wasn’t really thinking when I decided to do this.” She says softly, “I found a man who needed help, so I helped him.”

“Oh, yeah?” He tries you tease, tries to smile, he doesn’t think he manages either, “That simple?”

“I find a guy in a dumpster,” she pushes on as if he hadn’t said anything, her voice harsh, warning him not to interrupt again, “who is not only the local vigilante everyone is talking about, but is also _blind_ and that _apparently_ doesn’t matter because he can still beat the shit out of ten men in the space of a few minutes-“

“Vigilante?” He cuts her off, unable to help it, since when was he being called a vigilante?

“Is that not what you’re doing?” She asks, there is a small amount of curiosity in her voice, but not enough he thinks, for what that question really entails. “I work at a local hospital,” she doesn’t say which one which is good, she is keeping them anonymous, “A few weeks ago, cops brought in three men. Said they were robbing tourists, beating them up pretty bad. Apparently, a man in a black mask took issue with their activities and decided to step in.” 

He hadn’t actually, he really hadn’t cared beyond the fact that it was an opportunity, a fun one, to bloody his fists.

“I counted nine broken bones between them. A few days after that, EMTs bring in a 19-year-old waitress, said… some guy she knew waited for her after work in the parking lot, attacked her… tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her… and he saved her life.” He doesn’t remember that one, probably because it happens often, especially right now that he is specifically targeting the Russians and their human trafficking operation, they all kind of blur together. A woman screaming is his calling card. Sometimes the fight is even good, but most of the time it’s over in one to two punched and he is tempted to kill the perpetrator for wasting his time. None of it is done for the victims. How strange that these people would think it was.

“So, yeah, word's getting around.” The woman is going on, “And I want to believe in what you're doing. I really do. I think you are helping people, doing good, but if you die on my couch-“

“I’m not going to die.” He says, and he means it. He can feel his body clearer now, feel the world around him better. He is not going to die. Not tonight.

She is silent for a long moment after that and Matt can’t think of anything to say. His own mind blank with the revelation she has given him. A glimpse into what the people of Hell’s Kitchen think of him and his fun.

A vigilante...perhaps he can work with that. 

“You know,” the woman says after the silence has stretched too long, “you can take an unbelievable amount of punishment without one damn complaint.” She grumbles and he barks out a laugh at that, it’s startling and painful but it pulls him out of his contemplations. 

“The last part's the Catholicism.” He teases and it’s mostly a joke. The Hand is the real reason he can take a beating and not beg for help, but even among them he had been worryingly adept at it. So much so that they sent him away, back to the place they had stolen him from. 

He smiled bitterly.

The Russian’s. They're little human trafficking ring they have been running out of Hell’s Kitchen has been filling the air with the screams and cries of children. Their latest victim, a boy, had screamed so _loudly_ as they had beaten his dad in front of him before dragging him away. 

_Daddy! Daddy help! Please help!_

A vigilante ha? Well, alright then. He could _work_ with that.

———-

“What? What is it?” The woman asks as he pushes himself up suddenly. His body still protests but he has been able to meditate properly for long enough now to ignore it.

“Someone's coming.” He explains, groaning as he gets himself into a seated position. He’s going to need to get up so he can fight. 

“Wait, what?”

“There's someone in the building,” he growls out, teeth clenched in frustration. “a man, going from door to door.”

“How do you know that?” She’s panicking now. Great.

“He's on the third floor and he reeks of Prima cigarettes and discount cologne.” He stands up, hobbling towards where he thinks her kitchen is. He’s going to need a knife. If he is fast enough he can slit the man’s throat as soon as he opens the door.

“You can smell a man on the third floor?!”

“You'll smell him soon enough. He reeks of it.” He scrunches his own nose against the assault, “He really likes that cologne.” 

He’s digging through her drawers now, his senses not yet clear enough to tell him what everything is just yet, forcing him to feel for what he needs.

Behind him the woman is silent. He pauses.

“You're looking at me like I'm crazy, aren’t you?” He smirks, even if she can’t see it with his back to her.

“Seems the appropriate response.”

He laughs lightly, it still hurts. “Ya. Probably. Now tell me: This all you got?” He asks, holding up a small paring knife that he has found. 

“Yeah,” she responds, hesitant, it’s the truth though, “it's for vegetables, not a knife fight.”

He hums and tests his grip of the knife, practices a few slashes to test his speed. It will have to be good enough, “He's at your neighbor's door.”

“You kidding me? Hey!” She yells as he moves towards the door, preparing, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! You’re _not_ going to kill him! Not in my home!”

It’s not a question, it’s an order, but something in her tone makes him pause.

“Do you think I’m going to kill him?” He asks, they are in the hallway leading to her front door. He hears her draw a breath, then another, hesitating.

“No. No I don’t.” It’s a truth and it throws him, “You haven’t killed anyone yet. I don’t think you will.”

He stands in front of her, listening to her heart beat. ‘Truth’ it says. ‘Truth. Truth. Truth.’

She doesn’t think he can kill. She thinks he is a vigilante. She thinks he is _good_. 

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so unexpectedly painful. 

“So what’s your plan then?” He asks. He can’t kill in front of her. He’s not exactly sure yet what he is going to do with the whole ‘good guy vigilante’ thing just yet. Doesn’t know exactly how it fits into the rest of his plans, but it exists now and it’s something he can potentially use. He’s not going to ruin that just yet.

So he can’t kill. Not in this outfit. Not in this mask. At least not in front of people. Right now he is playing at being a vigilante. He cannot kill.

How hilarious is that? Stick would be so pleased.

“Okay, okay.” She breathes again, “Just stand over there on the side and be quiet. I'll get rid of him.”

He allows her to maneuver him just as the knock comes to the door, supposedly hiding him from view. He’ll have to trust her on that. Corners and walls have never been a hindrance to him. 

“Who is it?” She calls as she moves to the door but does not open it.

“NYPD, ma'am.” A man’s voice comes through. “Please open the door.”

She does so, carefully, he hears the sliding sound of metal on metal which tells him she’s kept the latch in place. Smart.

“Sorry to bother you so late, ma'am.” The man’s voice says, he is hiding his accent well, “My name is Detective Foster, with the 65th Precinct. We had a bit of a disturbance a few blocks from here.” Matt smirks, bit of a disturbance is an understatement with the number of bodies he left behind, “We're asking everyone if they've seen or heard anything unusual in the past few hours.”

“What kind of disturbance?” The woman asks carefully, though she’s managing to keep her voice appropriately surprised. 

“Armed robbery.” The fake cop lies, “Some dickhead in a black mask shot up a bodega on 38th. Owner put up a fight. Perp fled on foot, leaving a trail of blood in this direction.”

Had he really? Well that is truly unfortunate. The Hand was going to be more than displeased with that. 

“Oh, my God.” He hears the woman breath and he wonders if she put a hand to her mouth to fake that surprise.

“Probably long gone by now,” the fake cop at the door fake- reassures her “but just in case, you know. You see anything, hear anything tonight?”

“No... sorry.” The woman replies and Matt listens as the man at the door's heart _jumps._

“Just being thorough. You have a good night, ma'am.”

“Thanks. You, too.” The woman mumbles and closes her door, but Matt is tracking the man, listening as he pulls out his phone, heading back towards the stairs _fast_ and-

“See? No reason to get all stabby.” The woman says, “but Boy, were you right about that cologne. What, does he dip himself in that crap?”

“He didn't believe you.” Matt says cutting her off and pushing past her, putting aside the knife for now. He couldn’t catch up with the man even if he wanted to. 

“What?!” She yells after him as he marches out of her apartment. There is a metal object, large, cylindrical, that lights up in his perception as she talks. A fire extinguisher. He grabs it. 

“What are you doing?” She asks as he moves to the stairs, hanging the canister over the edge. He can kill the man easily with this, this high up, which means he needs to be careful so he doesn’t.

_There_

He drops it and listens as it moves through the air before crashing into the man below with a solid ‘thunk’.

“Oh Dios mío. Mierda. Is he _dead?!”_

He listens. There is a heartbeat.

“No. He’s alive.”

She swallows, “What do we do now?”

He holds up a hand, listening, “There's someone else one floor up watching us.” He pauses, listening to the heartbeat above them. He’s young and he’s scared. Is he also with the Russian’s? 

He hears the woman shift beside him, likely looking up at their observer. 

“Santino?” She asks and she really shouldn’t be giving him names, not that she seems to realize that right now. “He's the one who found you in the alley.”

Ah. Not a Russian then but maybe just as bad. “He's seen my face, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.” Truth.

He hums, thinking. 

“Go upstairs and get him.” He only just holds back a sharp smile, “We're gonna need help carrying Detective Foster to the roof.”

\---------

Matt senses him the moment they make it to the roof and Matt is _pissed._ Very very pissed. Still, he ignores Otomo’s presence until the boy, Santino, and the Woman - Señora Temple Santino had called her when they thought he could not hear- had helped him string the Russian up. 

“What are you going to do to him?” She asks, worried, scared. 

“I’m just going to ask him a few questions.” He says and she’s breathing slowly next to him, trying to stay calm. The boy has walked off a distance, his heartbeat a rapid tempo in Matt’s periphery by the roof access door. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill him.” He lies, “But it will probably be best if you and Santino head out now. He should be safe here, the men coming after me didn’t see him, but you…” he turns his body in her general direction, “You should probably find somewhere else to stay.” 

He hears her swallow and she moves her head, sending up a whiff of that kiwi shampoo she uses. “Alright. I...I have a place. Are you going to be okay?”

He stretches his senses out, searching, but it is only Otomo there. It seems the Hand hasn’t decided to interfere just yet. That is: unless Otomo is there to finish the job the Russian’s failed to complete. The cost of Matt’s failure to hold to the standards beaten into him by the Hand. 

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

Still she hesitates and he doesn’t know what to do to get her to leave before he finally hears a sigh. “Tenth and 54th. Apartment 412,” She says unexpectedly and his hand goes still where he had been tapping a beat against his thigh. “in the building above the liquor store. Just...Just in case you need some help getting patched up.”

It’s an offer. A terrifying one.

He nods slowly.

Then finally she is leaving, Santino opening the door for her and then closing it behind them. He listens as they go down, one floor, two, three, and then finally to their individual apartments where he can hear Miss Temple starting to pack. 

“Where were you?” He asks, finally turning his attention back to the man that has appeared at his side. As always Otomo’s heartbeat is steady and unworried. 

“I was called away. I had not realized that you would be in need of my help tonight.” It is a truth and it causes Matt to bare his teeth, grinding them in anger. As much as he runs the New York Hand branch, he and the others still report to those even higher up. He might be Otomo’s direct superior, but he is not the only person to whom Otomo reports and the Hand is oh so careful to keep him in the dark about certain things. They do not trust him. Even after all this time.

“There is a warehouse, I’m sure you can find it, I apparently left a trail of _blood_. It’s going to need to be cleaned up. Twenty bodies, maybe more, I lost count.” 

“Of course.” 

“Before that though. I need you to retrieve something for me. My sword and my red suit. The silk one. Shoes too. The red leather cap toe oxfords.”

“Are you going somewhere formal Master Murdock?” Otomo asks and Matt turns his attention to the man strung up before him. 

“I’m going to a dance.” he smiles. It splits his lip again and his blood begins to pour. 

\----------

The Russian is dead, his body broken and mangled in the dumpster below by the time Otomo arrives with his change of clothing. Matt has the information he needs and he takes the time to make himself presentable as Otomo deals with the clean up. He hand’s his black outfit over once he is done and exchanges it for his sword. 

“You are going to need to clean up eleventh and forty-fourth as well.” he instructs as he tests his swing and the extent of his movements. “There will be a boy there. Leave him alive and make sure he gets returned to his father. I do not care how you do it. Just make sure it gets done.”

“What of the woman and the boy that were here earlier?”

“Leave them.” Matt instructs, “They might prove useful later.”

Otomo doesn’t ask anymore questions after that, nor does he question Matt’s orders, he is good like that, and Matt takes the roofs to Eleventh and 44th and then finds the service entrance down, underground, to where he can now hear the boy crying. 

_Daddy! Daddy!_

A grin splits his face, bloody and harsh as he pulls out his sword. Ms. Temple said the man in the mask was a vigilante. She said he believed that he would not kill. Maybe she was right.

But Matt Murdock? Oh, he was _happy_ to do it. 

\----------

He breaks down the first door he comes across with a harsh crash and the people within stand at attention immediately, the first head goes flying seconds later, and then his sword is impaling the man beside him, running him right through his beating heart. He pulls his sword out in a swift movement just as the gunshots start and it’s a quick jump and a leap to remove that man’s hands and then to drive the tip of his sword through his jaw and down his throat as he screams. 

Matt takes a moment to stand back up, cracking his neck as he hears men scrambling from down the hall. He sighs and turns towards the broken down door, a dark splotch in his senses where the air outside is flowing through, and moves over to it, standing beside it to get out of direct line of sight of the guns he can hear being cocked. This is so much easier with his sword, so much faster, efficient, but so much less satisfying than using his body alone. 

He cuts off the arms of the first man through the door and sends a boot into his gut, sending him flying back into the group of men behind him. He leaps over the tangle of limbs, getting into the hallway, and turns. Here his movements are limited, unable to swing his sword fully, but he has been trained for these situations, has been trained for all situations, and as the men rush him it only takes one, two, three, four quick swipes before they are all dead at his feet. 

He reaches down, grabs one of the man’s shirts and wipes off his sword before sheathing it once more. Behind him the boy is crying again, scared at the noises that he is hearing outside, but he is a lucky one. He will be fine. 

Matt turns and leaves, using his sheathed sword as a cane as he tap-tap-taps his way out of the building.   


\-------------

Matt arrives home through his roof access when the sun is only just starting to rise, he can feel the way the air just starts to warm around him and he knows that it will be a gorgeous saturday. 

Too bad he intends to spend the whole day in bed. 

He makes his way down his stairs and to his kitchen, starting a cup of tea as he reaches for his phone, still plugged in from where he left it overnight. His burner phone got ruined and Otomo will likely bring him a replacement later, but this one is fine.

‘ _Twenty six missed calls’_ his phone reads out to him as he waits for his water to boil and he raises a brow in surprise before having it start playing the messages that had built up. 

_“Hey Matt, Karen and I are heading out bar hopping! I don’t know what you are up to but you better get your ass moving and meet us.”_ Foggy’s voice fills his kitchen and he laughs as he plays the next message, already seeing where this is going. 

_“Matty! Come on bud rise and...well okay it's like, twelve-o-clock but get a move on. I know you are a light sleeper Matty, stop ignoring me and pick up your phone! We’re already two drinks in!”_

_“Matty! Six drinks-” “Seven!”_ he hears Karen call from somewhere nearby Foggy. Next to him his kettle starts whistling and he starts pouring the tea into his tea pot. _“Right, seven! Seven Drinks in Matty! Bottoms up!”_

The next message starts to play as his tea is steeping, _“Matt! Buddy! Where are you? I'm introducing Karen to Josie's, and I have high hopes it's gonna go terribly. Climb off whatever building you're on and get down here!”_ He hears Foggy laugh over the phone and Matt smiles in return, in the back he can hear Karen again saying _“You saved the best for last, huh?”_ And Foggy replying _“Oh, yeah, this place is a shithole.”_ Before he hangs up. 

He has just poured his tea as the next message starts and, oh god they are _sloshed._ He feels genuine laughter bubbling up in his chest and it’s painful given that he had just had a collapsed lung just a few hours before but he can’t help it as, over his laughter he hears Foggy whispering, _“Matt. Matty. Matty Matt Matt. I drank the eel Matty I-”_ and beyond him Karen is laughing, happy and high pitched and going _“we drank the eel, oh my god I-we-we drank the eel!”_ And Foggy is laughing harder now and going _“And we are now filled with mighty eel strength! I bet-bet I could even take you in a fight now Matty!”_

There is a gasp and the sound of hand on fabric which tell Matt that someone has lightly hit someone else. _“Foggy! You can’t say that! He’s blind! You can’t hit a blind man!”_

 _“Hey! The only reason I can’t hit Matt is because he is a Ninja Karen, not because he is blind!”_ Foggy corrects as Matt grabs his tea cup and his phone and moves over to sit at his couch. They seem to have forgotten that they had been calling him as the conversation carries on for a while like that. Matt can only be thankful that Karen is likely too drunk to remember any of this conversation later and, even if she wasn’t, would hardly believe Foggy anyway.

Finally that message ends and the next one plays and Matt is feeling far more relaxed now, curled up barefoot on his couch with his tea. _“Matty! We're staying out till the sunrise and we are going to the- the fish market!”_ Matt thinks about the fact that the sun had just started to rise when he got home. The fish market would be opening in thirty minutes or so. _“I’m totally brushing Karen up on some of those Japanese auctioneering terms you taught me. You-you have to come Matty! You have to show her your amazing Japanese arguing skills_ ! _Come. and. Get. us. sturgeon meat!”_ He says punctuating every word and, well, how can Matt say no to that?

He forces himself back up and over to his bathroom to clean up and change. His nice red suit is splattered with blood, but it’s the weekend so he figures purple should do just fine as he pulls on his socks, the patterned duck pair, his shoes and picks up his phone and cane before heading out, this time through his front door.

His body still hurts terribly, but it would probably be worth it for high quality sturgeon meat. Probably. 


	3. Rabbit in a Snowstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Foggy get a new case and Matt has a crisis of morality

### The Russians Part 2: Rabbit in a Snowstorm

_And who then will stop me, at the end of it all, if God himself will not?_

_\--------_

Sometimes it strikes him just how surreal it is to be back in Hell’s Kitchen, a place he hadn’t seen since he was nine, or smelled, touched, or tasted since he was thirteen. So much of it felt like a fever dream, like his desperate attempts at sanity while training with the Hand. His small moments of escape to a world where his hurts were nothing more than scraped knees and the only punishment he ever got was no ice cream after dinner.

And now, here he was again. Here was the gym his dad fought and practiced at, the faded memories of it re-awakening as the scent of it hit his nose, and there: the sandwich shop that Matt had loved before the accident but had hated after when he could taste too much of everything. He crossed the corner where he lost his sight almost every weekend when he went out for a walk, and he has crouched on the rooftop of the warehouse where he had been stolen and where Stick had died. 

It was all within walking distance to him now, no longer a world away and a far off memory that, on bad days, he swore had never occurred at all. It was whole, it was real, he could touch it once more. 

Sometimes the realization overwhelmed him. 

He sits, carefully and quietly outside of the Church that his family had once attended. The church where his mother had almost chosen to become a nun, a funny anecdote to tell after Sunday mass as family’s invited one another to break their fast with them. The scent of incense fills the air and it reminds him of death. He had still been in the hospital when his mother had been buried, the accident that had taken his eyes having taken her life. His father had come back to the hospital after the funeral reeking of it and cried and cried and cried. 

Matt wondered if his mom would still be alive right now if she had decided to become a nun after all. 

He wondered if it was God's punishment for her.

“You're Jack Murdock's kid, aren't you?” A voice asks. A steady heartbeat and the swishing of clothes as the man comes to sit beside him. He had been standing near by for a while and it had given Matt the chance to get the feel for him, he was older, his clothing relatively stiff, balding or bald, it was hard to tell. He smelled strong of the incense of the church. 

It was the man’s voice though that gave away exactly who he was: one of the resident priests. The same one from his childhood, the old memories of sermons and prayers pulled up from the cobwebs of his mind by the man’s voice. This was the man who, on a flight of nostalgia and fancy, had sat on the other side of the confession booth and listened as Matt, in the veguest terms possible, asked forgiveness for a crime he had not yet committed.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected to come from it. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

“It's all right.” The man says, likely noticing the way that Matt’s jaw had clenched and his hands fisted over his cane. “Seal of Confession. Anything you said during the sacrament of penance stays between us.” He says and Matt wants to laugh, would laugh, if the man’s heart wasn’t a steady beat to _true true true._ “Could've killed 10 people, I couldn't tell anyone.”

Matt thinks that he has killed far more than ten people, more than a hundred. He might even be getting into the thousands at this point. He wonders if the priest would still be so willing to stay silent then, if he came and listed every one. 

“That seem fair to you?” He asks and he’s not sure what answer he hopes for.

“Is what it is.”

He is silent. Whatever answer he hoped for It was not that. 

“I have to get to work.” He says, the words are bitten out in annoyance, in anger, he is not sure if it is at himself or the priest. Still, the priest seems un-bothered by it. Like such an outburst was expected. 

“Yeah, me, too.” he agrees, not moving from the bench even as Matt springs up and starts walking away, “Wouldn't mind a cup of coffee first, though.” The voice calls after him and Matt refuses to turn back around, refusing to acknowledge the words, “Chamber of commerce donated one of those fancy espresso machines for meetings and stuff. I make a heck of a latte, if you're interested.”

Matt hesitates, about ten feet away, and he hates himself for it. It’s just enough time for the priest to add “Seemed you had a lot on your mind last time you were here.” 

It takes a greater force of will then he expects to keep his legs moving, leaving the aging priest and the offer of coffee behind him. 

\---------

“You know the whole, ‘Let's stay out all night,’ thing?” Matt hears Foggy three floors up as he enters their building, his anger from his unexpected morning conversation having mostly depleted by then.

“Yeah?” He hears Karen’s reply.

“How about next time we skip the part with the eel? It’s been a whole weekend and I’m still feeling that thing.”

“Deal.” He hears Karen laugh, two floors away now. Focusing on their voices is giving him a headache though, his body still on the mends from his beating on Friday and his senses still swimming in that familiar fashion they do after such experiences. So instead he lets his focus drift to Foggy’s heartbeat, strong and steady and rhythmic. His familiar presence is often easier on his senses than newer individuals. He doesn’t really have to focus anymore on Foggy to know he is there or what he is doing. New people, like Karen, take time for his scenes to become accustomed to. For them to stop nit-picking there every detail and instead let them simply become a person to him rather than a jumble to sensory data. New people leave him exhausted and cranky and since he is already half-way there Foggy’s heart seems like the better of the two options.

“Hey... you know she's not really free?” Foggy’s voice calls out as Matt gets into the office and places his cane aside.

“Is that a good morning or are you telling me we’re firing our new secretary already? Because I’m pretty sure she hasn’t worked off her bill yet.” He smiles as he moves over towards the kitchenette. He smells coffee, bad coffee, coming from there.

He thinks he’ll stick with the tea.

“Haven’t decided yet.” Foggy answers, following after him, and he knows Foggy well enough to bet good money that he just winked at Karen. 

“By the way Matt, how is the eye?” He asks, softly, once they are both in the small kitchen space. Matt thinks it’s a pointless move since Karen had seen the injury on Saturday morning at the fish market. She knows it’s there.

“I'm fine.”

“Not what I asked Matty.”

Matt rolls his eyes at that but let’s Foggy fuss for a second as he forces Matt’s face towards him to look it over. He’s not bold enough to remove Matt’s glasses without his permission though. The first and last time that had happened Matt had accidentally broken two of his fingers.

“Okay. Well, it looks worse then on Saturday but that’s probably only because it’s old and splotchy and it’s easier to see the extent of the bruising.”

“You done?” Matt asks, the kettle near boiling, the sound water bubbling starting to fill his ears, as he gives Foggy an annoyed look.

“I just rolled my eyes at you Murdock. Ya. I’m done.” He says and then, unexpectedly, presses some napkins into his hand.

“When did we get Napkins?” Matt asks, wondering what the hell he is supposed to do with these.

“I stole them from the place we had lunch at on Friday. And you’re damn lucky I did, you’re bleeding through that atrocious yellow thing you are using as a shirt. Right side.” And he’s whispering low and Matt is suddenly aware of the sticky wetness at his side. It must have just started and he hadn’t been concentrating enough to notice it. “Thank God you didn’t wear one of your lighter suits to go with it today. At least the blue will probably hide anything if it manages to get through the jacket too. I suggest you button up though counselor. Let’s _not_ scare our new secretary off.”

“I thought we were firing her?”

“Haha, real funny.” Foggy pats him on the shoulder, softer than usual, obviously trying not to jostle him too much. 

There is a knock at a door and it startles Matt just as much as Foggy to realize it is a knock at _their_ door.

“Was that a knock?” Foggy asks, moving away from Matt and into the entryway to the kitchen area instead. Matt takes the opportunity to un-tuck his shirt and pat at the blood on his side, hissing as he presses against the stitches.

In the background he can hear Foggy asking Karen to get the door and said door opening. At it he hears a man’s voice asking if they do walk-ins. He lets Foggy deal with it as he buttons his suit jacket and takes his time getting his tea so he can let his senses map out the man who has just descended upon their office. 

He forces his senses to focus through his pounding headache and towards their new guest. Expensive callone, even more expensive clothing, he can tell by the soft sounds it makes as the man moves, the fibers not catching against each other as they tend to do on lower quality fabrics, though how expensive he can’t tell without touching it. His shoes are pure leather and there is the smell of some organic hair product heavy in argan oil. 

And then there is his watch. Tick-tick-tick, loud in Matt’s ears. He got the feeling he would be needing to memorize the sound of that watch.

He smiles widely. How interesting.

———

“I represent a consortium with diversified interests in the private sector, both domestic and international.” The man with the watch is saying as both Matt and Foggy sit across from his listening. Matt doesn’t know what Foggy’s face is doing but Matt is smirking. “From time to time, we scout the landscape for promising talent to put on retainer.”

“Retainer?” Matt asks when the opening comes up, he is sitting slightly sideways, leaning back casually on the two back legs of his chair as he sips the tea in his hands. “And you decided to approach us? Why is that? Why not a larger firm, Mister…” he waits. He does not expect an answer but in this instance no answer will be telling enough.

“Confederated Global Investments is my employer.” Bingo.

“I don’t believe that was what I was asking.” Matt comments, sending a casual look in the direction of where the man is sitting across from him and Foggy in their conference room. The man’s heart doesn’t stutter. Interesting.

“It's the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock.”

“I’m sure.” Matt agrees, taking another sip of his tea to hide his knowing smirk. 

“So, why us?” Foggy cuts in, pulling the man’s attention away from Matt, likely trying to keep him from noticing Matt’s smile. “Obviously, the larger firms aren't able to provide the same hands-on attention that we pride ourselves on at Nelson and Murdock, but you have to admit this looks a little suspicious on our end.”

Matt lets his chair fall forward again and the two front legs clank back against the ground as he does so. 

“It's a fair question.” The man admits, Foggy’s accusation hadn’t even caused a stir in his heart. “I'm here because my employer does extensive business in Hell's Kitchen, and who knows it better than two local boys who graduated from Columbia Law, cum laude and summa cum laude?”

“I would like you to know Matt that I am giving our guest an unimpressed look.” Foggy comments, “and a raised eyebrow.”

Matt laughs lightly at that and Watch Man seems to also find the comment decently funny as he laughs too. 

“Yes, well, either way you boys decided to set up shop right here in your backyard despite the fact that both of you were made a very lucrative offer from Landman and Zack in Manhattan where-.”

“Yes great.” Foggy cuts him off with his annoyed voice, “You've done your homework. That doesn’t exactly make you any _less_ suspicious” Foggy presses on. Foggy is picking a fight and the man across from them shifts his weight forward slightly.

“My employer simply wanted to make sure he was making the right choice by coming here.” he offers and Matt already knows that that isn’t going to appease Foggy. Matt knows he can cut in at any time and defuse this situation, he already knows that they are going to be taking this man’s ‘business’ on as clients after all, he made that choice as soon as he got his senses wrapped around him, but it is oh so much fun to listen to Foggy tear into someone like this. 

“Then forgive me for being blunt, Mister CGI, Can I call you that?” Foggy asks and there is a sharpness to his voice. 

Next to him Matt laughs into his tea cup. “Seems fitting, given that the only name you're giving is ‘Confederated Global Investments’. CGI.” He grins, putting his cup down, “I like it.”

“I see no reason to object,” the man agrees, “and please, go on, In my line of work, I find bluntness refreshing.”

“Well then you are going to love us.” Foggy agrees, “What I see here, and sorry I am going to be going into some detail given my partners blindness, is a well dressed man, someone who likely makes well above the average three figure salary, very nice, _very_ expensive taste, who is sitting in a conference room of a newly opened law firm that is still being put together in the worst part of Hell’s Kitchen, much less Manhattan, when he and his employer could very easily afford the best of the best lawyers in the world. Now, I’ve already said that this sounds suspicious so I am going to go ahead and offer a bit of a hypothesis.” He hears Foggy lean forward now too, hears his hands as they press flat against their conference room table.

“See, Mister ‘CGI’, I think you and your business are in a rough spot. A rough spot that has forced you to track down some squeaky clean lawyers that no one can dig anything up on, no one can strong arm to throw a case, no one can black mail, and that are still good enough to get you over and through this rough spot with whatever dignity you have left.”

“Which means,” Matt picks up quickly, hearing the opening that is being tossed his way. “that you already have a case on your hands that you intend for us to take up. That you are simply trying to get us to agree to be _retainers_ before presenting us with said case at which point our new and squeaky clean little law firm would have been unable to say no.” Matt grins widely and beside him Foggy is radiating smugness. “Please let us know if we are on the right track here.” 

The man across from them is silent for a very long moment, his heart beat is still slow, but there is a noticeable nervous skip to it that only makes Matt’s smile grow.

Finally Matt hears him sigh and there is the sound of him reaching for his briefcase flicking open the latches. 

“It would seem that there is a reason you both graduated near top of your class. You are right that my employer is looking for a specific kind of legal counsel for our...latest case.” The man says, and there is a sound of a folder being slid across the table towards them. Matt doesn’t bother reaching for it but Foggy does and Matt hears him open it. “All he wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men…good lawyers.” And Matt can only just hold back a bark of laughter at that as there is a sound of the man moving again, taking something made of paper from his inner pocket. An envelope. “And for that, for nothing more than your exceptional skills and your discretion you'll be fairly compensated.” He slides the envelope across the table to them also, but Foggy seems distracted by what he is reading. 

“A homicide?” Foggy finally asks, “Beaten to death by a bowling ball. That is nasty stuff Mister CGI.” Foggy offers, there is the sound of flicking paper as he likely glances quickly through the rest of the notes. 

“It is my understanding that your firm is quite familiar with such cases.” The man offers, “Especially violent ones. I’ve heard rumors about the bloody mess that the woman outside was found at just last week. She’s your secretary now is she? I’m curious, do you often hire your clients after getting them off of murder?” he asks. Beside him Foggy has tensed but Matt only finds this little detour entertaining. 

“Mostly just the ones who can’t pay,” Matt responds with his sharp smile as he purrs, “but _I’m_ the curious one now, how did you know about Miss Page's situation?” He asks, leaning slightly forward over the table “She was never charged. There was nothing in the papers. It wouldn’t have been easy information to come by.”

“I have friends on the force.” The man replies and, ah, an uptick of his heart. Lie. But not a full one. _“_ I hear I'm not the only one.”

“Well, there is a saying about keeping one's enemies close.” Matt agrees and next to him Foggy clears his throat.

“I think we might be veering off the subject.” Foggy offers and Matt backs down. Just a little. “And one homicide case does not a trend make Mister CGI.” 

“I understand both of your concerns.” The watch man says. “Which is why my employer is more then willing to pay any fee that you will be charging for your services, along with a bonus of course for the...distress dealing with such a violent case could cause.” And again he nudges the envelope that he has placed on the table and Foggy sighs before putting down the case file and grabbing it. Matt listened to him open it and take another slip of paper out of it, likely a check, and he hears Foggy’s breath catch. 

“Uh-huh.” He says slowly, obviously looking it over. “That’s a lot of zero’s...” And pauses, thinking, As if determining if what is written on the check is actually a lot or not. 

“You don't seem convinced.” The man adds and Matt has no idea if he is talking to him or Foggy. 

“He’s looking at you Matt.” Foggy clarifies for him and Matt lets out a soft ‘ah’

“Well, Mister CGI, unlike my partner I can’t actually see the number of zeros on that check which I am _sure_ are substantial,” Matt comments, deciding to push this a little more, “but I prefer to base my judgement on the case itself.” Matt says and waits for Foggy to take up the mantle. Foggy knows Matt well enough by now that he should understand exactly what he wants Foggy to do. 

And he does not disappoint. He hears Foggy put down the check and pick the client file back up again, flipping back to the front page once more, and starts reading the police report and, once he gets to the attached pictures he starts describing them in excruciating detail. He takes his time, making sure that he is painting Matt an appropriately accurate image. Across from him the man is silent, waiting, his heart beating a steady rhythm. He is apparently accustomed to blood and gore then. Very interesting. 

“Well Matt?” Foggy asks after he is done. It’s both a question about if they are going to take the case and if Matt has gotten all the information he was trying to get from this little act of there's.

Matt nods, “We can win. I say we take it.”

“Alright.” Foggy agrees, seemingly turning back to the other man. “We’ll take the case. Though given the...gruesome nature of this suit I believe that we will also need to request an additional check for our secretary.” Foggy presses and Matt tries not to laugh at Foggy so expertly needling more money out of their new client. As long as Foggy is agreeing to take the case Matt doesn’t care how much money he is pulling from the other man. “After all, as you already stated, she is still recovering from her own trauma regarding bloody crime scenes. And given that her assistance will be needed, It is only right that we ensure she is rightfully compensated for any distress this might cause.”

“That can be arranged.” The man agrees as Matt listens as he retrieves a pen from the inside of his suit pocket and a stack of papers, a check book, from his briefcase, and quickly writes out a second check before passing it over. 

“Well then,” Matt _grins_ as he lets Foggy take the additional check, “you can tell your boss that we are _happy_ to be in business with him.”

“I am sure he will be just as happy to hear that.” the Man with the Watch says and there is a smile in his voice too. 

Excellent indeed.

————

They apparently have 38 minutes to get to Precinct 15 but Matt lets Foggy deal with those details as he stands as soon as their guest has left, giving him only a few minutes' heads start before tailing him by the sound of his ticking watch. 

He follows the man only one short block before he hears him getting into a car. There is a second heartbeat within. Strong. Calm. The man It’s connected to is large, shockingly so. The air moves around him as if he is made of solid stone when the car door opens.

“It's been taken care of, sir.” The man with the watch says and then they are gone.

Matt’s grin is wide and predatory even as the scent of iron fills his nose, the injury at his side bleeding once more, but that’s hardly important. 

No. No what is important right now is that the kingpin has made his move and, oh, what an interesting move it is.

\------------

“So what exactly happened, Mr. Healy?” Matt Can year Foggy’s voice from outside of the precinct as he makes his way through. He is already with their new client it would seem. “In your own words.”

“All I wanted was to throw a few balls.” A new voice replies, “The lady at the shoe counter will tell you the same.”

“I'm certain she will,” he hears Foggy agree, voice even. Bored. “She also says that you crushed the deceased's skull with a bowling ball.”

It is an interesting case. Matt hasn’t had a chance to read over it in full but Foggy had painted a vivid enough image. it wasn't the case that had driven him to get Foggy to agree to take it though, but who it was that had offered up the case to their law firm in the first place. He now had confirmation that ‘Mister CGI’ was likely working for this mysterious Kingpin, which meant that this case was directly linked to them. The Kingpin had presented Matt with another opening into their workings and Matt intended to take it. 

So the question was then: Why did the Kingpin want the victim dead? Why was the victim important? He will have to get Otomo to do some digging. Or maybe Karen, Matt corrects himself. After Otomo’s unexpected absence on Friday he is feeling a little low on trust when it comes to the man. 

“Self-defense.” He can hear their client quickly reply, a lie, but his voice does not give it away. He doesn’t sound too worried, “The man and his... whatever they were, they threatened my life.”

“They threatened you, how? Verbally? Physically?”

“Which sounds better?” Their client asked and it’s only met by what Foggy himself has deemed him ‘unimpressed’ silence.

“They threatened me both verbally and physically.” The man responds after a moment and Matt is close now, their voices louder.

“So you are saying that you didn't know or have never met Mr. Prohaszka prior to last night?”

“No.” A lie “but I do regret any injurious consequences my actions may have caused.” Another lie. But a well spoken one. Matt hesitates just down the hall to listen if Foggy has caught onto the implications of that statement too.

“You have quite the legal vocabulary, Mr. Healy.” Foggy comments easily enough, Matt is close enough now to hear the shuffling of papers. “Am I right in assuming this isn't your first rodeo?”

“I had issues. I'm better now.”

“I am sure you are.” Foggy agrees and it’s almost hissed out, an accusation. It’s time for Matt to step in.

“Sorry I'm late.” He says, pushing open the door and bustling in. There is a shift of clothing as the room's occupants, Foggy and the only other man in the room, turn to him. The man smells of blood, old sweat and adrenaline, gun oil and gun powder though he doesn’t remember there being a gun in this case, and wax, likely the kind used to keep bowling lanes slick.

“You’re fine Matt.” Foggy offers as Matt moves in, “I was just going over the case with Mr. Healy here. Asking for some clarification of the events from his point of view.”

“We’ll, in that case, we are happy to be representing you, Mister Healy.” Matt smiles widely, feeling for the edge of the desk and the chair before taking a seat. He places his elbows on the table in front of him and laces his fingers together. “Why don't we start from the beginning? Tell me _everything_ you know.”

\---------

Foggy lets him take control as soon as he gets into the room. He’s not stupid, he likely has already figured out that Matt has an agenda in mind with this whole case and is backing off, giving Matt the space he needs to work. It takes a bit to get to where Matt wants this conversation to go, to maneuver their client into the line of questioning he wants, but once he does he doesn’t hold back.

“You must be a very important man Mister Healy.” He comments, giving the man a teasing smile, like it’s a joke. 

“That a question?” Their client asks. His heart rate has sped up just a little, he hadn’t expected that line of questioning. 

“Statement.” Matt is quick to correct, his smile spreading, “After all, It's not every day a global investment firm picks up the tab for a murder suspect-”

“Self-defense.” The client cuts right in. His heart rate going up one more tick.

“Of course.” Matt purrs in agreement, “Though I wonder,” he hesitates, letting the tension build, “could shed some light on the man that hired us to represent you.”

A spike, a sharp one. He is scared now “Don't think I can, counselor.”

“Can't” Matt tilts his head, listening “or you won't?”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with my case.” Anger now, driven by his fear, Matt can smell it in the air, he is entering into fight-or-flight and oh how Matt would _love_ a fight. 

He just can’t give into that want just yet.

“Just trying to build a solid defense Mister Healy,” He reassures him, backing down and letting his smile become something a little more natural. “the connection between you and the man that came to our offices might just help prove your innocence.”

“How?” Their client asks, his heart still jackhammering away.

“Maybe you're old friends.” Thump-thump, “Maybe he's a character witness.” Thump-thump. “Or maybe,” Again a pause, this time to listen, “you were in his employment at the time of the incident.” Thu-thump-thump-thump.

Very good.

“I just wanted to throw a few balls,” the man lies once more, his voice cracks just a little, probably only noticeable to Matt himself. “just like I keep saying.”

Matt hums in agreement as he leans back in his chair, letting the front legs leave the ground as he balances in thought. “You go bowling often, Mr. Healy?”

“When the mood hits.”

“I am sure.” Matt agrees, their client swallows.

“Are we breaking for lunch anytime soon?”

Matt smiles like a shark.

“Are you at all afraid of what might happen if we lose this case, Mr. Healy?” He asks, teasing. Letting his chair fall forward once more.

“No.” Truth, “Are you?”

Matt’s smile only grows, “never.”

\--------------

“Sooo,” Foggy says slowly as they arrive back at their offices after their meeting, “You wanna tell me what this is about? Or do I get to guess as to why we are defending a man that is obviously a trained killer?”

Matt snorts at that as he puts his cane aside, “‘Trained killer’. He’s no more than a two-bit thug who likes to think himself an assassin.”

“Yes, because what we really should be doing right now is criticizing the man’s technique.” And Matt knows Foggy well enough to know he is rolling his eyes at him. “I’m rolling my eyes at you Murdock.” Foggy adds anyway, just because he is like that.

“Maybe I think you're right, maybe I think we should take a few cases for the money.” Matt offers, shooting a teasing smile in the direction of Foggy’s voice. 

“Okay, for the record, any and every time you say that I am right I am just going to call bullshit. You never think I’m right. And secondly, you never do _anything_ for money. That’s me, and I don’t like you infringing on my turf man. I can’t exactly go around joining underground fight clubs to take over _yours.”_

Matt barks out a happy laugh at that and moves to go get them both something to drink. “Alright. Alright. You caught me. Yes, there is something more to this case but I assure you, It’s not something you need to worry yourself about.” Matt gives in. He hears Foggy shuffle, his weight shifting as he leans against the table in the main room, the plastic squeaks slightly under his weight. 

“You sure about that buddy?” He asks softly, and it’s his genuinely worried voice, it makes Matt pause. “Because we’ve only had our door open for a week and this is the second case with something fishy behind it. We’ve only _had_ two cases Matt, and I’m not liking this trend.” he breathes out, it’s dejected and he falls silent for a long long moment as the water boils in their cheap plastic electric kettle that they got for the office. 

“Can you just tell me if this is going to get bad?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I like to get a bit of a heads up if i’m about to be kidnapped in my sleep and tortured.”

Matt swallows. 

“You’ll be fine Foggy.” He promises as he puts two bags of peppermint tea into their two mugs and pours the water over them. Foggy is silent in the other room, probably watching him through the small opening to the kitchenette. He picks up the two cups and goes over to him, holding out Foggy’s own mug carefully in the direction his familiar scent is coming from. “It will be fine. I promise.”

There is still a moment of hesitation before Foggy lets out a soft sigh and takes the mug. “Okay. Okay Matt. I trust you.” He agrees and Matt gives him the soft smile that he reserves for Foggy alone. 

\------------

“So.” Foggy says after they have settled themselves down in his office, each with their now cooling tea, “assuming he's indicted, which, yeah, it's on the DA to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it wasn't self-defense, shoe girl's DD-5 says that she didn't come out of the back room until after the fight had started, which helps us.” Foggy starts, getting right down to business now that the air has cleared slightly. 

“And what about Prohaszka's men?” Matt asks, pulling his chair up close to Foggy’s side.

“They lawyered up. Wouldn't give a five.” He mumbles, “Since when do the victims of an assault not give a statement?”

“Another chit in our favor.” Matt agrees and Foggy hums, typing something out. 

“Plus Healy's pretty banged up. Argue defensive wounds, which makes it look more like a fight and less like an execution.”

“So, you open, I'll sum up.” Matt summarizes what they are both already thinking, they already know where their strong points are and this is a case that Matt is best suited to close. 

“And we should cash those checks,” Foggy adds and Matt snorts before taking a sip of his tea. 

“Ya alright. We’ll have Karen cash the checks. You're going to finally tell me what was on the damn thing?”

“Fifty-thousand. And we got an additional ten-thousand for Karen.”

Now it’s Matt’s turn to hum, fingers curling happily around his mug. “Seems a little low given the job don’t you think? Representing a ‘trainer killer’,” he smiles wolfishly. “We’ll also make sure Karen bills them for a few extra thousand for...moral integrity.” 

Foggy laughs lightly at that, “you certainly know the way to my heart Murdock,” he teases before hesitating. “Speaking of Karen, where the hell is she?”

\---------

They are going over Penal law when Matt’s senses pick up Karen entering the building once more. Her steps are slower than normal, hesitant and worried. She’s been gone for hours at this point which means, wherever she was at, it likely wasn’t good.

She drags in the smell of high end perfumes and colognes when she enters their office, along with the scent of leather, steel, and ink. He licks his lips, trying to get something more. She’s gone somewhere this afternoon, multiple somewheres, but he can’t place an exact location. It definitely wasn’t in Hell’s Kitchen though. 

It’s troubling. 

“Karen’s back,” he cuts through Foggy’s strategizing and he hears Foggy shift as he looks at his watch.

“She took a three hour lunch.” He replies lowly, knowing Matt will hear it without issue. “Something we need to worry about?”

“Something I might need to worry about.” Matt corrects, “right now it’s best if you keep trying to be her friend.”

“Matt, do you even know me? I’m everyone’s friend. You don’t have to tell me to do _that.”_ He pushes his chair back. “I’m going to go talk to her. Anything specific I should be asking?”

“See if she’s dug anything up on our little CGI company.” Matt tells him as Foggy walks around the back of his chair to get to the door. “And let her know not to take anymore long lunches.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Foggy agrees, patting Matt on his shoulder lightly before Foggy’s business voice is quickly replaced with his ‘friendly’ voice as he exits the conference room with a loud “Karen! My sweet eel drinking buddy! You’re back! I was worried.” And closes the door behind him.

“Oh!” He hears Karen’s heart beat pick up, surprised by Foggy’s sudden appearance but she seems to quickly compose herself. “I’m so sorry Foggy, I had to run a few errands this afternoon and they took way longer than I expected.”

Truth. Interesting. 

“Nothing terrible I hope?” Foggy asks in his soft worried voice, “Is everything okay? I know you were in a rough place on Friday night, if you still need to talk-”

“No no Foggy, It’s not that. I’m fine really.” 

A lie, but Matt isn’t sure what part of that sentence it was. 

“Are you sure? We’re still your lawyers Karen, me and Matt, and we’re your friends. If there is anything you want to talk about you know you can talk to us right? I promise over my bond of friendship not to mention anything, and attorney-client privilege means that I can’t. You know, if the chat is more official in nature.”

She hesitates this time. Her heartbeat is steady. Thinking.

“Thanks Foggy.” She finally says softly, “but I promise I’m alright. If I need anything though you’ll be the first person I reach out to.”

“Hey, I’m always willing to do my bit to help.” there is the sound of skin on cloth and Matt knows Foggy has likely put his hand reassuringly on Karen’s shoulder. “Now for more boring work related talk:” He teases, switching the mood to something far lighter, easily clearing the air, “You find out anything on Confed Global?”

“Oh. Yeah, actually, uh, it's a subsidiary of a holding company of a loan-out to a holding subsidiary of a...well it kind of goes and on and on and on.” Matt hears her sigh, “But I did manage to put the checks in before I left. They cleared and they cleared fast.”

“Well that is certainly good news!” Foggy laughs, “We might be able to pay you after all.”

“I thought I was doing this to pay you guys back for taking my case counselor.” She says, though her voice is teasing. 

“Ya well, if you do a good enough job we might just keep you on Miss Page, and even _I_ wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we cheated you out of a paycheck after you’ve covered your bill.”

Karen laughs at that and it sounds like she has hit Foggy with a stack of papers. “Alright, off with you Mister Nelson. I _know_ you have work to do.”

“Ya ya, alright alright I’m going!” Foggy laughs in return, his footsteps moving back towards the door. “But hey, try to avoid the long lunches for a little bit alright? Or at least tell us when you are planning to take one. We were worried. Given everything with your case…”

Ah, the guilt tripping, Matt knows it well, and by the sound of Karen’s voice when she replies it was worked on her just as well as it has worked on everyone else Foggy has turned it against. “Ya. Alright Foggy. I can do that.”

“That is all I ask.” Foggy agrees and then the door is opening and closing again and Foggy is stepping back around his chair, his finger’s running over Matt’s shoulders and neck, before moving to take his own chair once more. 

“Did you get what you needed from that?” He hears Foggy ask softly under his breath and Matt simply nods. He didn’t get definitive answers, but he knows at least that Karen is hiding something important from them. It’s not much but it’s enough to tell him he needs to keep a closer eye on her. 

And likely make sure she never learns to read braille.

\-----------

“I'll remind you,” Foggy’s voice is loud and clear in the courtroom. His voice echoing and illuminating every corner of it in Matt’s senses. It’s been a few weeks since the man’s visit to their office and they hadn’t seen him since. In that time Matt’s injuries from the Russian’s had mostly healed, his senses back at full capacity allowing him a better spatial awareness of almost everything around him. Beside him sits Mr. Healy, his heart steady band, unbothered. In front of where Foggy’s voice is projecting from sits the jury, a cacophony of heartbeats that Matt will have to take a moment later to unravel, but right now his senses are focused on the tick-tick-tick of a familiar clock drawing closer. 

“Instead, it's up to the prosecution to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was not justified in defending his life.” Foggy’s voice goes on as the door to the court room opens with a click of internal mechanisms and the watch’s ticking gets all the louder. “And they will come nowhere close to meeting this burden. At the end of this case…” the man’s heart is steady too, just as steady as the ticking of his watch. He is unworried. This case has been bought. He knows it. He turns his attention back to the jury. “the only verdict that you can render will be not guilty.” 

Now he only has to figure out which one.

He filters out the unnecessary noise around him and focuses instead on the hearts. Steady, steady, steady, nervous but not overly so, steady, and there. Fast. Scared. _Terrified_.

He can’t get a good feel for the person this far away, nor can he pick up any distinguishing scents when they are so closely surrounded by others, but he knows their heart and that will be enough for now.

He leans back and smiles, widely. 

\------------

Matt taps a quick pattern onto the bench top as the jury is moving out for the day. On the other side of their client he hears Foggy’s heart pick up in tempo. 

————

“Julie Davis.” Foggy tells him over lunch as they sit huddled in a far corner of a loud restaurant by the courthouse that they picked more for convenience than the food. ”She’s Mrs. Jackson’s granddaughter. Last I heard she was an accountant with CCC industries. It’s been a few years though so that might have changed.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and asks around a mouthful “Why the interest?”

“She’s being blackmailed.” Matt explains, mostly ignoring his own meal. “Any idea what our dear CGI could have on her?” 

He listens to Foggy chew for a moment, likely thinking, before swallowing down his bite. “Nothing off the top of my head. No one in the Jackson family is currently sick, at least not in a bad way, and they are doing pretty good for themselves in the money end of things since Mrs. Jackson’s sons are electricians. There has been a lot of work for that recently. Student debt maybe? I know she went out of state for her degree. It’s where she met her husband. I don’t know enough about his side of the family to give you anything on them.” Foggy offers, “I’m shrugging buddy. If they have anything on her it’s probably old.”

Matt hums at that, tapping a slow tune against his pant leg, “Thanks anyway Fogs. It’s more than I had before.” 

“You want me to ask around?” Foggy offers and Matt waves his hand in his general direction.

“No. No. I don’t want you getting involved that deeply,” Matt tells him, “and I don’t want our benefactor knowing we’re on to them. Forget we had this conversation, I’ll deal with the rest.”

Foggy sighs lightly across from him. “Whatever you say Matty. Consider it forgotten.”

————

“This will all be over soon, okay? Just keep it together till the verdict. Can you do that?” The voice is saying as Matt crouches above the couple, hidden in the shadows of the roof where the air is just so slightly cooler. He had had a hard time determining if this was a Black suit or Red suit event, but had determined in the end it was best left to ‘the man in the mask’. After all, there was no guarantee that he would be able to kill this man directly after he interrogated him and, well, women in distress were apparently his MO. 

“Look, you ask me, it's almost like they're doing you a favor. I mean, you don't want something like that floating around.” The man is saying, trying to be comforting, “Go home. Get some rest. You got a big day tomorrow.”

He waits until the woman is gone around a corner before he strikes and, oh, he will never have enough of the feeling of his fist meeting flesh and the satisfying crack of an orbital bone splintering under his touch. 

“Stay down.” He orders and, just because he can, breaks the guys wrist as he hauls him up and shoves him against the nearest wall. The man is screaming and cursing and Matt only tightens his hold. “We’re going to have a little chat.” He spits out, smiling though he doesn’t know if the man can see it. “And you are going to answer all my questions. Now: What do you have on her?” His hand tightens again on the man’s broken wrist, grinding the bones together. The man _screams._

“A tape! There's a tape, okay?”

“What's on it?” He asks, releasing his grip just a little, just enough that the man won’t get used to the pain.

“A mistake she made when she was 19 and pretty, something she don't want her kids to know about.”

Nothing useful to him then. 

“You are going to get rid of it.” He orders, no use in keeping it around and the woman isn’t important enough that he’ll be needing to blackmail her himself. 

“I can't.” 

He makes the man scream again as he tells him, “It's not a discussion.”

“It won't make a difference.” The man sobs but Matt doesn’t truly care if it does or doesn’t. 

“Who do you work for?” He asks instead. 

“I don't know.” Comes the reply followed once more by screams of pain. “It’s the truth man! It’s the truth! I don’t have a name for you!” He’s sobbing now, “That isn't how this works. Look, I walk by a building, if a light's on in the window, I got a job.”

It’s a truth, an interesting one, but again not one that is very helpful to Matt. Visual queues aren’t exactly his forte.

“You are going to give me the address of that building and then you are going to go destroy that tape and find that woman again,” he orders, thankful now that he did decide to wear black for this “you are going to tell her to get herself excused from the jury. Personal reasons, whatever it takes. After that, she never sees you again.” 

“They'll kill me.”

“We’ll then,” Matt purrs against the man’s ear, “you'd better leave my city... tonight.” Not that he was going to let the man get that far. Not at all. 

He lets the man’s wrist go as soon as he gets an address and the man is off like a bullet, putting as much distance between him and ‘the man in the mask’ as possible.

“Otomo?” Matt calls and in a second he feels the man’s familiar presence at his side. He is still reluctant to trust the man again, but there are some things that only he can do for him and this task is one of them.

“Yes Master Murdock?”

“Follow him. Make sure he does as I ordered, and once he is done talking to the woman and is alone: kill him.”

“As you wish Master Murdock”

\-----------

Matt smiles in satisfaction as juror eight is replaced by a new one. Next to him his client seems unperturbed, but in the back of the courtroom he hears the man with the watch’s heart thundering away, no longer a steady beat to match his oh so perfect watch. 

“Would the defense care to make a closing argument?” The Judge calls and Matt’s smile only grows as he stands.

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”

He picks up his cane and very gently taps his way towards the jury stand. He knows he is a sight in his red suit and red silk shirt, the whole thing freshly laundered and without a hint of blood in its scent, though he has a feeling that that might be changing tonight. 

“What the hell is he doing?” He hears their client ask as he stands silently in front of the jury, taking them in, gauging their heartbeats. He ignores it. He knows how to play with silence. Finally:

“Mr. Murdock, we're waiting.”

“Of course, Your Honor.” He answers, starting to walk, pacing just a little in front of the jury’s stand. He had been thinking about this closing statement for a while. Sometimes, most of the time really, he likes to be spontaneous with these things but, well, sometimes something comes over him. Something _sticks_ like gum on the bottom of his shoe. Awkward and disgusting until he can dig his fingers into it and dig it out. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, forgive me if I seem distracted.” He says as this particular piece of ‘gum’ finally comes free in the only way he knows to get it out. He has something to say and he has found that the only place he can say it is on the floor of the courthouse, with lady justice overlooking him. Judging. “You see, I've been preoccupied of late with questions of morality,” He offers up, “of right and wrong, good” a pause, “and evil.

You see, Sometimes,” He sweeps his cane in the air as if cutting a line in front of him, right through the jury stand, “the delineation between the two is a sharp line, but more often than not it's a blur… and often,” another pause, He’s only added this part for one specific reason, because he can multitask with the need arises. He tilts his head, listening in a different direction now, towards the man with the watch “it's like pornography.”

He gets a chuckle from the audience for that. The man with the watch does not laugh but his heart does jump. Just a little.

That’s all he needs to know. 

He goes back to airing his grievances in the only way he knows. In a way that is almost cathartic to him. He thinks back to the confessional, to the priest, to his unsatisfying answer. 

The seal of confession. Of ten men dead, of a hundred, of a thousand.

This is not Confession.

“A man is dead.” He states bluntly, and he is no longer sure what man he is talking about, what death he is talking about. It hardly seems to matter. “And these questions, these questions of morality, these questions or right and wrong, are vital ones, they tether us to each other. To humanity.” an uptick of a heart, this time from behind him, not his client though, Foggy. He wonders what his business partner is hearing in all of this, if he is listening to the same speech the rest of the courtroom is hearing, or if he is listening to the speech that Matt is truly giving. If, perhaps, he is hitting a little too close to home. 

“Not everyone feels this way.” he offers, a silent ‘sorry’ to Foggy, “Not everyone sees the sharp line, only the blur.

A man is dead.” He punctuates. And again, “A man is dead.” because he needs to get himself back onto the case at hand, “and my client, John Healy, took his life.” he indicates back towards him. “This is not in dispute. It is a matter of record - of fact - and facts, well,” he shrugs and smiles back towards the jury, “they have no moral judgment. They merely state what is. They do not care what we think of them, or what we feel. They just are.” His smile is a little too raw, he thinks as he adds, “They are kind like that.”

He goes on, restating the facts of the trial as he is expected to, doing his job as he is expected to. Making his defense as he is expected to. “Those are the facts.” he presses, “Based on these, and these alone, the prosecution has failed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client was not acting solely in self-defense. And those, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, _are_ the facts.

Therefore my client, based purely on the sanctity of the law which we've all sworn an oath to uphold, must be acquitted of these charges.

Now,” He adds, slowly, gently, a threat, not to them but to the man behind him, a man who’s heart says that he is listening, but not _just_ him either. Not just him at all. “beyond that, beyond these walls he may well face a judgment of his own making.” and he thinks of the confessional, he thinks of the priest, he thinks of the hundreds of bodies at his feet. 

He thinks of fact, of truth, of morality. He thinks of a law, so broken, that facts can be twisted if one just knows how to play the system well enough. He thinks of a confessional and its forced silence.

He thinks of juror number eight and wonders, for the first time, how exactly she was ordered to vote. 

He wonders, for the first time, what drove him to stop her.

“But here in this courtroom the judgment is yours and yours alone.” He finishes and takes his seat once more.

\--------------

The verdict is presented to the judge and Matt listens as the Foreperson’s heart hammers in her chest. _They’re hung._ He realizes just as the Judge says “Madam Foreperson, it's my understanding from this note that you have been unable to reach a verdict.”

“We have not, Your Honor.” The Foreperson responds, her voice is old and slightly shaky, nervous. 

“She's sending them back in.” Foggy narrates softly but Matt knows where this is going, he can hear the deliberation in the other room. He wishes he was sitting next to Foggy so they could talk, not separated by the dead man sitting between them.

“Still split,” Foggy adds, later once the jury has returned once more, “DA will retry-”

“No, they won't.” Matt cuts him off, there is a deep frown on his face. He’s not sure, exactly, why. “No. No they won’t. Will they, Mister Healy?”

Beside him Mr. Healy’s heart is as even as it has always been. “That was a hell of a speech you gave, Murdock. A hell of a speech.”

And that’s it. The trial is over, Mr. Healy isn’t acquitted but he is released, the prosecution does not call for a retrial, and Matt stands, straightening his suit jacket and grabs his cane. This is the outcome he wanted. This was the outcome he needed. Mr. Healy is walking free once more and that means that Matt has access to him. That means that Matt can get him alone. 

So why does it feel like he lost?

\-------------

“Leaving so soon Mister Healy.” He calls out as he hears the man close the trunk of his car. “You just got off scott free. I thought you might be out _celebrating_ .” Matt smiles as he approaches, “Maybe going bowling? You seemed so _fond_ of it earlier.”

“What the?” Healy’s voice rings out, his heart has finally started to pick up. He doesn’t seem as calm and collected as he was in the courthouse a few hours back. Not any more. Good. “Murdock? What they hell do you think you are doing here.”

“Why, I believe we have unfinished business Mister Healy.” Matt says, still moving forward before coming to rest just within swords reach of the other man, “A question you failed to answer to me earlier. Do you remember what it was?”

“What?” Healy asks, confused, before anger seems to take over, “You got a death wish or something blind man?”

“The man that hired us,” Matt pushes, ignoring the comment as he comes one step closer, slowly drawing his sword from his cane. “who does he work for?”

The stutter stop of his heart and then: “What the fuck? Is that a sword?!” a started stumble away, the sound of his target hitting the trunk of the car he had just been packing, and then the sound of his feet gaining better purchase of the ground, solidifying himself into some kind of stance. “You think I'm afraid of you?”

“Oh Mister Healy,” Matt laughs deeply, his smile stretched wide over his face as he listens to the pounding of the man’s heart, “I _know_ you are. Now you can either tell me what I need to know and this will be fast or you can try to resist and I’ll make this as excruciatingly slow as I can.”

“You’re full of shi-AHHH!” He screams sharp and pained into the night air.

“My my, so loud!” Matt says, bringing a hand up to press a finger to his own left ear in mock pain, “And that was just from me cutting off your ear.” He tisks, “Come now let's not play this game.” he stabs forward with his sword with another quick move, this time catching the tip of the man’s pointer finger, sending it flying. The man gasps and stumbles back against the trunk of the car once more. He turns as if to try and run but Matt is on him before he can, Sword sinking deep into the man’s shoulder and through the trunk behind him, pinning him in place he screams once more, loud and clear. Matt presses himself against the struggling man’s back pinning him as he leans over to whisper in his bloodied ear. “Tell me, Who does he work for?”

“I can't!” Healy begs and Matt presses down on the sword, cutting a deeper line down the man’s shoulder.

“I want a name Mister Healy and the longer you keep from telling me the longer I am going to keep you living. Tick-tock Tick-tock, you’re already at five minutes into my loving care.” He mocks, “And trust me, I know just how to make every second of that time feel like an eternity.”

“Oh, God!” He gasps, trying to push Matt away with his body, but Matt only forces his sword deeper into the Man’s shoulder. “Fisk! Wilson Fisk!”

It’s enough. In fact it’s more than enough, and Matt moves back, pulling his sword with him and letting the man slump to the floor in front of him. 

“Get up.” He orders as Healy’s body stays where he fell. “I know you are alive. Get up.” 

A shuddering breath, the stumbling movements of Mr. Healy’s body as he grabs the trunk of the car once more and gets his feet back under him. 

“What-What are you going to do now. I told you the name,” he breaths out raggedly, “I gave you the name!”

“Now Mister Healy,” Matt shushes, “There is no need to panic quite so loudly. I believe I told you exactly what I was going to do earlier. You even complimented my little speech didn’t you? What was it exactly that I said? Oh yes ‘he may well face a judgment of his own making.’” He laughs, wiping his sword down on the red sleeve of his favorite suit before he sheaths it once more into his cane and tosses the whole thing away. 

“Now I’m giving you a chance to make this _fun_ Mister Healy. To earn your life. Not that I think you will win but, well, who am I to deny a man the chance to _protect himself in self defense?”_ He chuckles, smiling widely as he waits for the man to make his first move. 

“You’re insane.” He hears the man breath, his heart is jackhammer fast, “You're insane and I’m dead anyway for giving you that name.” He hears the man swallow, “I-I won’t let you beat me to death. I won't let you or anyone else control how I die. I _won’t.”_ and then he is moving, but not in the direction that Matt expects him to go. Not towards him or away, but to the side, and before Matt can do anything, can really realize what is happening, there is a squelching sound of steel going through an eye and then brain matter, a shuttered breath, and then nothing.

Matt clenches his fists at his side, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and then moves to grab his cane once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: For those who are unaware, one of Matt’s greatest struggles in Spider-Gwen is how easily he is able to get and maintain power and the fact that no one seems to be trying to, or able to, stop him. Here we start to see glimpses of that struggle, with Matt starting to feel frustration as he realizes that the two systems he had maybe hoped could one day hold him back likely never will. 
> 
> Second note: I also tend to add art to my pieces so if you want you can go look back at chapters 1 and 2 and see the new art pieces I’ve added in!


	4. The Russians Part 3: In the Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt knew keeping these two alive would pay off in the long run.

### The Russians Part 3: In the Blood

_One must be a fox to lay traps_

_And a lion to frighten the wolves._

————

There are blank spaces in Matt’s knowledge about New York that he blames completely on his time spent away from there. He had been taken at thirteen and returned at twenty-one for law school and that near decade of absence had changed things. 

The biggest and most annoying one right now being the damn Taxi cabs.

“He's here!” one of the Russian’s is yelling, further down the warehouse as Matt is busy punching another one out. He has worn the mask tonight, knowing full well that he intends to keep these men alive. He needed them alive so he could maybe, _finally_ track them down. 

The only problem is those damn taxi cabs. 

There is yelling in Russian and people scampering away down the stairs and out to the alley below. Matt grabs a man and tosses him out the nearest window, not really to kill him, but to get the air flowing into the room so he can maybe catch something, some distinct smell, some distinct location, noise, _anything_ that can tell him where the Taxi’s keep coming from and where they keep going. 

But there is nothing. Nothing distinct. Too many people jump into those taxi’s on a day-to-day basis. Too many locations are visited. Too many gas-stations are stopped out. There is nothing for him to pick up from them but ‘Taxi’. Not even the engines are distinct enough to listen to and follow as they move through the city. _His_ city.

He knows that if he could _see_ he might be able to get a license plate or, hell, might even be able to see the name of the company painted on the side, that is, if Taxi companies are even still doing that any more.

But he can’t. He _can’t_ . And as much as his anger and frustration over another wasted night makes him want to call upon Otomo, to use _his_ eyes, or any of the eyes of his men, he is finding that less and less are responding to his call and that Otomo is more absent then not from his periphery as of late. It puts his skin on edge. There is something happening within the Hand that he is not privy to, something that they are not telling him. That they are stealing his men for. 

Which means that Matt cannot trust them. Not that he ever truly has, but especially not right now. 

And so he is left, once more, knowing no more than what he started with: The Russian’s are using Taxi’s to get around and it is becoming a _problem._

————

“You've been busy.”

He hadn’t planned on coming back to this woman, Miss Temple - Doctor Temple? He isn’t sure. He never asked for clarification - but desperate times call for desperate measures and he was quickly running out of options. At least ones he was willing to risk.

“You know what they say about idle hands.” He replies, holding his bruises and bloodied hands up for her to see as he smirks in the direction her scent is coming from. She still smells like a hospital but it is fading now, likely because she isn’t going to work as often or at all any more. The smell is being replaced by that of a cat. It’s not an improvement. 

“That they don’t end up looking like they have been through a meat grinder?” She offers and he barks out a laugh. It’s an honest one too. 

“Something like that.” He agrees with a smile. 

“So, how's this all working out for you?” She asks after a quiet moment of patching him up. He didn’t actually need her help with this of course. He was more than capable of taking care of minor injuries like this but, well, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“You should see the other guys.” He offers.

“I have.” She grumbles, and it no longer sounds like she is happy or teasing, “It’s not pretty. You know you’ve put some of your victims in comas right?” She asks and her breathing is slow, forcefully so, “How do you feel about that?”

He doesn’t smirk. After all, she thinks he’s a good guy. “I'll live. And so will they.”

Her silence is damning and he has to wonder if she is starting to see through this little facade he is putting on. He hopes not, it would do her no good.

He’s saved from having to comment on her silence by the sound of a cat jumping onto the counter followed by his self-appointed doctor yelling at it to get down.

“Have something against cats?” He teases, if only to change the subject and keeping her off of questioning his violent tendencies.

“I'm allergic. I was supposed to be coming in, feeding this guy twice a day while my friend was out of town, not hiding out here using up all my sick days.” She comments and her voice has more than a hint of annoyance to it. So she isn’t going into work then. Good to know.

“Just a while longer.” He offers. “And if there is anything you need from your place all you need to do is ask. I can get in and out without anyone noticing.”

Silence meets that statement but he knows she is simply thinking. He waits, quietly, for her decision. 

“I’m running low on clothes.” She admits reluctantly, “and supplies to keep patching you up. If you could...bring me some stuff it would be appreciated.” 

He smiles widely at her as he pulls on his mask once more. “That can be arranged. And just in case, before I go.” He says, pulling out a burner phone he bought for her using his own money. “I’ve already put my number in it. Well...not my real one but you get the point. You need anything you call.”

“Do you really think this is necessary?” She asks softly even as she takes the phone.

“I think it’s better safe than sorry. Just like you staying here. At least until I know the Russians aren’t after you and then, well, I suppose you can do with it as you please.”

“Right.” She mumbles, taking the phone. “Right.”

\-----------------

His plans pay off three days later. 

“My mom wanted me to be a butcher, you know that?” Foggy is complaining from beside him and Matt laughs, bright and vibrant into the cool night air.

“Which mom is this? Rosalind or Anna?” Matt asks, teasing, which is only met with a sharp hip check which probably makes Foggy look like a jerk to the people around him since he did it to the blind guy he was leading.

“Don’t be quarrelsome Murdock, the moment I call Rosalind ‘mom’ is the moment I die.” He says and goes on with his story, “I said, ‘No, Mom, I want to be a lawyer.’ I don't remember what I said next-“

“No, you never do.” Matt confirms which gets him another hip check and gets Foggy another laugh from Matt.

“But I'm fairly certain it wasn't about bailing out a piss-drunk electrician who nearly burned his house down. Let's cross. Step now” He cuts in, he knows Matt doesn’t necessarily need Foggy to lead with such detail but it’s nice that he does so anyway, not only to help keep Matt’s cover but to allow Matt to concentrate his senses on more important things then the sidewalk. Like the sound of scuffling and a door being broken down over at Tenth and 54th.

“Ed's wife left him, Foggy. It was an accident.” Matt offers and Foggy scoffs next to him, Matt’s smile widens. “Admittedly involving cigarettes and gasoline, but still.”

“I could be carving my own corned beef Murdock. Making my own pickles, have a little shop of my own.”

“You got your own office.”

“You can’t see it Murdock but I am giving you one of my copyrighted hash-tag Look’s right now with a capital L,” Foggy says just as Matt hears the sound of heavy footfalls, three men rushing up a flight of stairs, “We have office space. An actual office would involve plantery and equipment, fax machines or whatever successful people use.”

“I don't think they use fax machines anymore, and I can buy you flowers if you want.” Matt says over a shocked gasp that fills his ears.

“How would I know? Which is endemic to the problem. And no flowers, I'm not putting up with you sneezing for days on end again.” Foggy says, coming to a stop and turning his body towards him, “Matt, what if we're doing this all wrong? What if Landman and Zack was the way to go?”

“You hated interning there.” He says only half-involved in the conversation at this point. Foggy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“I hate being broke.”

“Of course you do.” He agrees just as his burner phone rings. Next to him Foggy goes silent, likely recognizing the importance of the fact that no name was being called out.

“I take it you need to get that?” Foggy says and Matt nods as he pulls out his burner while simultaneously waving down a cab for Foggy. One pulls up almost immediately.

“I'll see you tomorrow Fogs.” He smiles and he can’t see Foggy’s face but he knows he’s being given an incredulous look.

“I’m giving you an incredulous look, Murdock. Should I be expecting blood tomorrow?”

“Probably.” Matt agrees as he answers the phone, hearing a scream on the other end.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Foggy mumbles and his heart has sped up to an impressive crescendo. Matt reaches out and opens the Taxi’s back door for him in one try, purposefully, to remind Foggy of his abilities.

“Get home safe.” He smiles and Foggy only hesitates a moment more before sighing.

“Ya Buddy, you too.”

\----------

He doesn’t go to Tenth and 54th, knowing it would be pointless. Instead he goes and changes into his ‘Man in the Mask’ outfit and then heads to Miss Temples apartment complex. The same one he had purposely made sure to be seen at the last few nights. The same one where he had spent a little too long outside of a certain fire escape giving instructions to a certain kid to deliver some supplies to Miss Temple’s current location.

A certain kid that he finds curled up on his mom's kitchen floor. By the smell of it he has been roughed up but not beaten enough to do any permanent damage. Lucky him.

“It's okay. It's me, Santino.” He says soothingly to the young man who is a bundled heap in his senses. He very carefully kneels down in front of him, holding up a calming hand as he hears the boy shuffle away just a bit “¿me recuerdas?” _Do you remember me?_

 _“Si.” Yes._ Comes the sniffled reply. The kid smells like sweat, the scared kind, it’s sour and thick enough in the air that Matt can taste it alongside the iron of the kids blood.

“Senora Temple voy llavar por gente muy mala.“ _Miss Temple's been taken by some very bad people._ Matt explains, keeping his voice careful and soft. He doesn’t actually know if that’s true as he didn’t go check, she could be dead at her friends apartment right now, but chances are they took her some place a little more secure and he’s hoping that it’s their current headquarters. After all, he has been making a mess for them, they are going to want to try and lure him in again. “Eso escuché su nombre,” _I heard them say your name_ he lies, “Necesitos tu achudar, por favor.” _I need your help. Please._

“No dije nada. No al principio” _I didn't say anything. Not at first._ The boy assures him which is cute, really, but Matt had planned on having the boy talk so he hardly cares that he did. “Luego me llevaron al techo como lo hiciste con ese hombre ... Me dijeron que si le decía algo a alguien ... volverían por mi madre.” _Then they took me up to the roof like you did with that man… They told me if I said anything to anyone...they'd come back for my mother._

“¿Sabes a dónde llevar una señorita Temple?” _Do you know where they took Miss Temple?_ He pushes the conversation along, not really caring what they did to this boy, just that they kept him alive.

 _“_ No” _No._ “Lo siento...Sus hombres la van a lastimar por mi culpa.” _I'm sorry...Those men are going to hurt her because of me._

 _“_ No. No” He tells him with false gentleness, “No es tu culpa Santino” _No, it's not your fault, Santino._ “Es mio” _It's mine._ More than the kid knows really. “¿Hay algo más que escuchaste o viste?” _Is there anything else you heard or saw?_ Because it’s the kids eyes that he needs right now, “¿Algo que pueda ayudarme a encontrarla?” _Anything that might help me find her?_

The kid hesitates, but Matt can tell it’s because he is thinking, not because he doesn’t want to tell Matt. “Las ventran un Taxi,” _I saw them get into a taxi._ “Pero no para atrás, por alante, como si fuera de ellos.” _But not in the back, in the front. Like it was theirs._

He only just kept the smile off his face.

“¿Qué era companio? ¿Viste un nombre?” _What was the company? Did you see a name?_

 _“_ Veles. Veles Taxi.”

Perfect. He knew keeping these two alive would pay off in the long run.

_\---------------_

“Hey Fogs. I need an address.” 

He hears an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. “Of course you do. Alright buddy. Lay it on me.”

—————

“You answer, he stops hitting you. Everyone is happy.” A heavily accented voice says from within the car shop he has perched himself across from. He had been debating which outfit to show up to this little dance in: his black one or his red one, and now he is a little grateful that he went with the black. He has rules about his red outfit. Mainly: nobody lives. But, well...

“I told you, I don't know who he is.” Miss Temple's voice replies to the angry Russians and Matt has to admit that that kind of loyalty deserves a reward, even if it is something as simple as letting her live. Besides, even he has to admit his injuries of late have been excessive and having someone besides Foggy to turn to was handy. He was willing to risk Miss Temple, he was not willing to risk Foggy.

“Tell me his name.”

“I don't know.” _Truth_ his mind automatically supplies as he heads down to street level, intent on finding the circuit breaker to the building to give him an advantage in this flight. He is not about to underestimate these men again, especially without his sword, and _especially_ when he can hear the men messing with some pretty heavy duty guns within. 

His hands move lightly along the outer wall of the shop, focusing his senses for a metal box he knows has to be here somewhere. Even through the gloves he can easily feel the rough texture of the brick under his fingers as he moves. 

“He never told me. He never told me!” Miss Temple is screaming from inside and he hums, wondering if she would have given them a name if she had one. 

“Sergei…” a voice crops up in warning but another quickly cuts it off. 

“Vladimir told us not to kill her until she talks.” Which is probably a good thing, after all she might have already been dead if that hadn’t been the case. And ah, he just found that breaker box. He opens it up, continuing to hum a happy tune under his breath. “This gives me no pleasure. It really doesn't. But I have been given a job to do. So please, answer the questions that I was told to ask. Or I will begin breaking you, a piece at a time.” The man is threatening as Matt runs his fingers lightly over each of the switches in the box. There are no braille labels, but there never is, so he just flips them all off. 

He flips the switches, one group, then another, then another. One by one he hears the sound of buzzing light bulbs fading from within just as heart rates spike and a number of men start to curse in Russian under their breath.

Bingo. He heads inside.

“Mikhail, check the breaker.”

Mikhail must be that first man he runs into then and the first man down, choked out rather than the easy option of snapping his neck. The things he does to maintain this silly little hero visage. 

He moves on.

“Check the breaker!”

Another man down, choked out.

“Mikhail?”

Another.

“Mikhail!”

“You want to know his name? Ask him yourself.” He hears Miss Temple speak up and he lets himself smile sharply at the anger but also relief in her tone. How very entertaining. Still, he would have preferred to have had her say nothing, even if the drama behind her words was so very _him._ The fact of the matter was that it causes the mobsters around them to panic and the panicking mobsters had _guns_ and oh how the bullets start to _fly._

Matt was quick to duck behind one of the cars, putting as much of a barrier between him and the bullets before, very carefully moving around. One good thing about guns was that they made their carrier a very obvious target in his senses and, once the bullets stopped, he was on them. 

He lets himself get lost in the fight, lets his devil out as his dad had once called it. Lets it take over as he swoops down on one man and then another and another and beat each of them down. Laughter bubbling up in his throat at the rawness of it all, of the blood splattering across his face in a far more natural way then he ever accomplished with his sword. With the snapping of breaking bones that he never got with the smooth edge of a blade. 

He couldn’t let himself completely get lost though, no matter how tempting, the mask tied around his head was a reminder of that even if Miss Temple’s erratic heartbeat was not, and so he made himself rein it in, just enough not to kill. 

“You stay away from me!” The last man yells, he has Miss Temple in his arms, both of their erratic heartbeats close to one another as he pins her to his chest. He has a gun, he can smell it and hear it’s mechanisms clinking just slightly as the man's hand shakes.

“Let her go.” He orders, the man is apparently swinging around wildly, back and forth, moving the air around him with his erratic movements. It is still dark enough in there then that he cannot spot Matt even though Matt can hear at least some fluorescent bulbs still humming in the area. 

“I'm walking out of here.” the man insists and Matt can’t help it any more, he barks out a laugh. It echoes around the room, brilliant to his senses.

“Of course you are. Surgei right?” He smiles as the man’s heart jumps, telling him that he is right, “I don’t kill remember. Of course you are walking out of here.” He assures him, circling him like the shark he is. “I’m just here for the woman in your arms. Hand her over and all three of us get out of here without issue.” 

The man is trembling more now, and oh how Matt loves to strike fear into people. Though it’s so _strange_ to think that ‘the man in the mask’, a character that is known for not killing, is able to elicit such fear. Then again, what does he know about fear?

“I'm not playing with you, man!” The guy yells even as Matt continues to take small steps forward. “I'm walking out of here...I'll blow her brains out!” he yells and it’s a hilarious threat. The man doesn’t even have the gun to Miss Temples head. He would know after all, there would be the sound of metal on hair if it was.

Matt sighs and shakes his head to himself “Fine. If you wont listen to reason, how about threats?” He offers instead, “Put the gun down…” he smiles widely even though it is pointless with no one capable of seeing it given the angle he is approaching from, “or I promise you you'll never hold anything in that hand again.” 

He hears both Miss Temple and the man’s hearts jump in fear and he knows he has scared both of them, though hopefully he hasn’t scared Miss Temple enough to put her off of him. He was looking forward to keeping her around at least for a while yet. 

Ah well. 

He strikes. 

It’s easy work, oh so enjoyable to grab the man’s arm, to break his fingers first to get the gun to drop, to twist his arm and break his wrist next, to move behind him, forcing his arm back and hearing his shoulder joint _strain_ under the pressure. “It hurts, doesn't it?” He purrs to the man, “Being in pain, being afraid.” He laughs low, and he’s ready to say more, do more, to have _fun_. But he has let himself loose track of Miss Temple and suddenly there is something hard and heavy moving through the air, too far away to be aiming for him but, oh-

A solid _thunk_ and the metal pipe, or maybe a bat? Hits Surgei across his head and he is out cold.

Matt huffs and lets the body drop. 

“Well done Doctor.” he praises even as he senses the woman panicking, the air heavy with her adrenaline and the air swirling around her as she stumbles away from him. “We’ll make a fighter out of you yet.”

\-------------

He realizes too late that he can’t take her back to her own place and that he can’t exactly call Otomo to take her anywhere either. Maybe Karen? Karen knows the man in the mask, but that would require tracking her down. 

There is Foggy of course but, no, they have an agreement and this would be pushing it a little too far. 

Still, the whole point of this little trap was to find the Russian’s main base and to set a little trap using them. If he wasn’t around to see it sprung then what was the point? 

So with a sigh he does the only other thing he can think to do. He digs out the money he has stashed for emergencies in his pocket, hopes to god that the bills are actually right and that no one at the bank stiffed him and gave him a one instead of a twenty, and hands them off to Miss Temple. 

“Here.” he says softly after she has stopped panicking and crying. She will likely start up again soon enough but Matt is hopeful that it will be _away_ from him this time. He has never been very good at comforting. “Take this, get a cab, and go to the nearest and cheapest hotel you can find. Your injuries aren’t bad. You should be able to deal with them with over the counter supplies.” He offers and waites, hand held out. It takes a moment but she eventually takes the money in shaking hands. 

“This isn’t over is it?” She asks, he hears her swallow. Her heart says she is afraid. 

“No. It’s not.” he agrees, “But it will be soon. Now go, before these men wake back up.” 

Her head moves, it’s maybe a nod, maybe a nervous movement. “What are you going to do?” She asks, just above a whisper and he gives her what he hopes is a gentle smile. 

“When dogs get scared they run to their owners.” he explains to her, “I intend to listen and figure out where these dogs run.” 

She does nod then, hard and clear enough that he can tell that's what it is, “Alright.” She agrees, “Thanks...for coming for me.”

“Any time.” he lies “Though let's hope this is a one time deal.” He smiles and he doesn't know what her reaction to that is because it's not vocal and he can’t see her expression, but she does eventually start to walk away, only a slight limp to her step as she does so.

“Just-” she says after a moment, her steps pausing just before she gets to the street, he hears her take a shaking breath, “Just please be safe.”

He doesn’t respond to her but she doesn’t seem to expect one as she finally leaves. He exits soon after and takes to the roofs, listening to the men below as they slowly start to wake up. 

\----------------

As fast as taking roofs was, it still wasn’t fast enough to chase after a car, hence his whole problem in the first place, and so the next step in his plan requires a trick he hasn’t had to do in a long time. One that he absolutely hates doing too. 

He moves to the exact center of Hell Kitchen, carefully removes his shoes and socks, rocks back and forth just a few moments to get his balance before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath and opening _everything._

The whole of Hell’s Kitchen and a little bit outside of it hits him so hard he has to bite his lip to keep from screaming out in pain. At the overwhelming sounds and smells and vibrations coming through his feet. The whole of the city is _rumbling_ with cars and subways systems and the push of wind through every corner of every street. He forces himself to endure, let’s it overwhelm him because right now he can’t _afford_ to filter anything out.

And then he starts. 

_One_ he breaths _get rid of the radios and TVs. They are not needed._

 _Two_ in and out _get rid of the sounds of buildings shifting and rumbling and settling. It is unimportant._

 _Three,_ breath, breath _Get rid of the sounds of the fluorescent lights humming around him. Unimportant._

 _Four,_ harder ones now, _Get rid of conversations in languages that do not pertain to the situation. Get rid of conversations that involve children and families. It’s a risk to filter them out but they likely won’t be needed._

_Five, Filter out the wind and the subways. The Russians are likely to take a car anywhere they need to go._

_Six, The smells, Filter out all smells. He will be too far away to use them. They are pointless._

_Seven,_ finally finally, breath, _Let the rest flow through him._ Breath. Breath. _Find his center._ That one center that he has been able to rely on for the past five years. _Let It in, let its even Thu-thump-Thu-thump put a rhythm to everything, turning it into a song rather than chaos and just let himself be._

At the edges of his perception it starts.

“ _Sergei. Sergei..._ ” A voice flows through him, he focuses just enough to acknowledge that it’s a name he knows, to memorize it as important for later though, and then let’s it go. He can’t afford to force all of his focus on them without knowing where they are going to be running.

“ _The man in black…_ ” 

“... _Piotr. Fisk...._ ” Fisk. Fisk. The name lights up, flame bright in his mind and he lets himself hold it for just a moment before letting it go. They will take him to Fisk but only if he doesn’t let himself concentrate too hard.

Russian. He doesn’t concentrate. The sound of cars starting, their rumbling being added to the cocoffany. He doesn’t let himself follow the cars movements, they are too similar to every other car on the road, he wouldn’t be able to even if he wanted to. No. He just acknowledges and listens to everything. That voice will be back. He just has to listen.

“ _Sir, I need to speak with you._ ” There. That voice again. It flows through his perception and-

“ _What is this?_ ” And _oh_ there he is. Matt lets himself smile through the pain. He’s fallen to his knees at some point. He hopes he hasn’t been screaming. 

_“I want to tell you, my brother and I, we gratefully accept…”_

“ _Wesley will take care of you_ .” That voice. He lets himself finally start to focus, shutting off the parts of the city that do not contain _that voice_ one by one but he still leaves himself open, far more than he usually ever does.

“ _Put him in a car._ ”

“ _Understood_.” Another voice, another familiar one. A ticking of a watch.

“ _Will I see you again?_ ” _That_ voice again. The _Kingpin._

“ _I don't usually date customers._ ” A woman? How odd. Let it enter, do not concentrate, let it out.

_“You came out with me tonight.”_

_“And here we are, so…”_ in out, breath. 

_“I can...return the painting, and then I'd no longer be a…”_

Another voice. The sound of a car this time. His name but not. _“The man in black”_ it says, _“came before our men had finished.”_

 _“You were right to reach out to us, although...a call would have been more appropriate.”_ The man with the watch. He has a name now but giving it to him would require thinking. He lets it go. 

_“I enjoyed our time together very much, Vanessa.”_ The Kingpin again, the words flow through “ _If you don't feel the same...even a little bit… just tell me, and I promise you won't see me again.”_ And oh, how interesting, is he in _love?_

 _“I…”_ the woman, _“don't know how I feel.”_

 _“Why are we stopping?”_ The Russian again filters in, there is the sound of water too near him. He is at the very edge of Matt’s perception now. Interesting. Interesting. But he cannot let himself focus. Cannot. In and out, let the city flow through him. Time is unimportant, thinking is unimportant. He can worry about all of that later. 

_“You embarrassed me.”_ The Kingpin and, oh, the sounds of a fight. There are a number of fights going on in Hell’s Kitchen in that moment though. This is just another one. _“You embarrassed me in front of her.”_

In and out. In and out.

The sound of a skull being smashed against metal again and again, Thu-thump-Thu-thump it echos with his center, with the heart-beat he knows so well and suddenly, the sound of bone _shattering_ and he is back with a gasp. His ears are ringing, overworked and painful and forcing everything, _everything_ out now that he is letting them. He is trembling, his body shaking on its hands and knees even as he tries to force himself up, to force himself to stand, he heard his center _shatter_ he has to go, he has to _see-_

He can taste the salt in the air. He has been crying even if none of it has made it past his mask. 

“Master Murdock?” A voice says from next to him. Too loud and painful in his ears. He only just keeps from curling up and covering them as he stumbles. “Is everything alright?”

“Peachy.” He grinds out at Otomo between his teeth. His ears find their center again without his prompting, he expects to hear the sound of shattered bone alongside it but it's just a steady Thu-thump-Thu-thump. It takes him a moment to realize that the shattering of bone and the sound of Foggy’s heart were coming from two different locations. 

He forces himself to breath before pushing himself up. He is still barefoot and the cold of the rooftop helps bring him back to his body, just a little. 

He lets his mind finally start to process everything he heard. The fight at 9th and 51st, the angry taxi driver that was stiffed his fare, the woman whistling happily at the 24 hour laundry, the sound of ticking watches and, _oh._

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Peachy.” He says again, with far more convection as he starts to pat the dirt off of his black outfit. “Just peachy.”

Vanessa hu? How interesting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many comments on this one but if you couldn't tell Foggy was important to Matt before well...uh. ya.  
> (I headcanon the Stick taught Matt how to filter out the world so he could function but the Hand saw some benefit in having someone who could hear everything at once in a region of space and made him do this kind of thing for them a *lot* when he was first brought in)


	5. World on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which new revelations force Matt to re-evaluate his plans

### The Russians Part 4: World on Fire

_The Devil is in the details_

_Just pray that you don't miss him_

———

Here is what Matt knows so far. One; There was a murder in a bowling alley. A man named Prohaszka who owned a majority of the stocks in a Hell’s Kitchen cab company: Kitchen Cabs. Fisk hired the man that killed Prohaszka. Fisk then hired him and Foggy, through a man called Wesley, to defend the man in court. The cabs then got given to the Russians for whatever business they were conducting which Matt knows is human trafficking from all of the ‘shipments’ he has put a stop to these last few months. He supposes cabs were a hell of a way to grab victims, especially late at night stumbling home from bars. It makes sense. It's logical. A good business plan. 

Matt, God curse him, knows full well that he intends to put a stop to it. completely.

\----------

When Matt arrives on the scene there is a man singing to himself in Mandarin. He doesn’t recognize the song but he’s always enjoyed music and it’s soothing to listen to. He hums along just a little as he sits on the rooftop above the taxi cab holding his latest targets. They are talking in Russian and asking the singing man about him. Well, about the man in the mask.

Matt snorts. He’s been playing clean up since his rescue of Miss Temple. He hadn’t been able to kill anyone then, but he is in red tonight so he can do as he pleases. Not that he was complaining about his little scheme, he got exactly the information he needed from that, but it did require little play-dates like this.

He starts to adjust the cuff of his red suit when he pauses, hearing a name he hadn’t expected to hear in all of this. 

_Gao_

Oh. How...troubling.

He hears the men below exit their car and head inside. Matt makes his way down carefully and silently, moving over to the car where the singing man sits. He hasn’t reacted to Matt’s presence yet, but given what the Russians had said Matt isn’t overly surprised.

He knocks gently on the window to get the guys attention. His song pauses and, after a moment, he hears the window roll down.

“ _You’re one of Gao’s men right?”_ He asks in accented Mandarin.

There is a moment of hesitance, there is no sound of the man moving within. He smells like the city, cold steel, plastic, and heroin “ _Yes_.” He finally answers.

 _“Blind?_ ” Matt asks. He can hear the men inside the warehouse getting ready to leave already. 

“ _Yes_.” The man responds again.

“ _Well then today is your lucky day._ ” Matt smiles, unsheathing his sword, “ _cover your head and lay flat against the bottom of the car. This will be over soon._ ”

He hears the man do as instructed and Matt moves forward towards the door. He smiles widely as the Russians must spot him, hearing their guns raise and their safety’s get flipped off.

“Who the hell are you?” One asks and Matt only smiles wider. They must notice his sword then because there is a lot of what must be cursing in Russian but they are too late as Matt is upon them.

Matt relieves them of their guns and hands and then relieves one man of his head. He’s not planning on killing the other man yet but then the two men inside start firing before they even get the door open. One shot takes their friend out and Matt is forced to back off and away to keep from getting a bullet in his side too. He hides behind and then rolls under the cab. Above him he hears the high paced pounding of the man’s heart hiding within. The bullets stop and he hears the two men approaching, one on either end of the car. Searching. Matt counts to ten and then lashes out with his sword, catching one man across his achelies tendones, sending him crumpling to the floor with a cry of pain before rolling out and trusting upward with his sword to catch the other man right under his ribs and up, piercing his lungs and heart. There is a gurgling noise as he dies and then there are gunshots, bullets peppering around his feet as the man whose tendons he cut seems to get enough sense about him and tries to fire at Matt from under the car.

Matt dislodges his sword from the other man’s chest and rolls over the car to avoid the bullets before landing in a crouch directly on the man’s back. He grabs the arm with the gun and wrenches it back, dislocating it and breaking the man’s fingers before holding his sword to the man’s neck.

“Now then.” Matt says, panting slightly from their little dance. “this has been fun. I would invite you to dance again some time but, well.” He shrugs

“Who-who the fuck are you man?!” The man under his asks, terrified, “are-are you one of Fisk's? We haven’t done anything! W-we’re working with you guys now!”

“Me, working for Fisk? Don’t make me laugh.” He says, a low chuckle escaping his lips, “I’m just someone doing a little clean up.” 

“A-are you working with the man in the mask then?!” And that has Matt pausing before he can actually slit the man’s throat. 

“...now why would you assume that?” He asks slowly, curious. 

“V-Vladimir’s brother!” The man is quick to reply “The man in the mask cut off his head!”

Matt thinks back to the sound of a head being smashed against metal again and again and again. The sound of crushing bone

Interesting.

“Why do you think it was the mask that killed him?” He asks, almost thankful now that he had decided to play with his food rather then just slit his throat immediately.

“H-he left a calling card.” He man says, his non-broken hand scraping along the alley floor, “A-a mask tucked into his jacket!”

Also very interesting. Matt backs off slightly. “Thank you. You have been very informative.”

“Wait, does that mean-“ he slits the man’s throat before he can finish. In the background he can hear police sirens on there way.

“ _Come on._ ” He says to the man curled in the bottom of the car as he opens the door from him. “ _The cops are on their way so it’s best we get going._ ” He says, waiting for the man to take his arm. He studiously does not make a joke about the blind leading the blind as they make their way out of the alley and turn the block just as the cop cars arrive.

“Holy shit.” He hears one of the cops say in shock followed by radio clatter as they call in the scene.

Off to the side one officer is whispering, ‘think we need to get Detective Blake in on this?’ And a reply ‘Ya. it’s...this is definitely more of the Russian’s. he’s going to need to know’ 

Detective Blake was it? It seems he’ll be giving the precinct a visit a little later then.

 _“Hey.”_ He says, jostling his arm a little to get the man holding its attention, “ _That song you were singing earlier, mind singing it again?”_

There is a slight moment of hesitation before the man starts singing once more and Matt relaxes as the notes echo around him, highlighting the corners of the street in fun and interesting ways. He hums happily under his breath along with it, leading them away from the mess of bodies he left behind.

\------------

Madame Gao’s involvement with the Russian’s is worrying, and it implies that Matt’s assumption that the Russian’s were only involved in human trafficking was incorrect, and he hates being incorrect, especially with something as crucial as Madame Gao. Madame Gao, who has a side business in Heroin that funds her Hand operations. That likely partially funds _Matt’s_ Hand operations. 

She must have been using the Russian’s as a means of getting her product around, and he has been stepping all over that. He’s not stupid enough to think that she does not know that he is the Man in the Mask, and so he can only assume one thing: She is giving him her blessing. He supposes that that might be wishful thinking though, but he is...reluctant to approach her. Hell, he doesn’t even know for sure if she is in the city. 

No. It was best to focus on the Russian’s for now, to keep with his plan, and if Madame Gao has an issue with it...well she could summon him herself. He would go then and only then. 

\------------

He comes back into his office building to the sound of yelling. It makes him pause. Forces him to focus upstairs before snorting. It would seem that some kind of fight was going on, but not one that he needed to worry about. Something about rats and machines taking over. He supposed with Stark Industries there is always a chance, though if he was remembering correctly Stark was moving his brand towards...tea? Coffee? Matt didn’t know but he was pretty sure it was some kind of drink.

“We have rats now.” He hears Foggy complain as he opens the door to their office, “I'm never sleeping here again.”

“Didn’t realize you were sleeping rough.” Matt teases as he puts his cane aside, “has your financial situation gotten that bad? you know you can always crash at my place right?” 

“Oh ha ha Murdock.” Foggy says and Matt feels a balled up piece of paper hit his head just after Karen let’s out an indignant ‘Foggy!’. “Your couch might be cozy but I’m not putting up with that billboard.”

“My bedroom doesn’t have that issue, and that room has an actual _bed.”_ Matt says, biting back a laugh as he goes to get some coffee. At least until the smell of it hits him and he decides on tea instead.

“Do you see what I have to deal with Karen.” He hears Foggy saying from the other room, knowing Foggy he is probably waving his hands around in exasperation towards the small kitchen. “I room with the guy for three years and the moment I manage to escape, BAM! He tries to find a way to drag me back in.”

“Truly terrible Mister Nelson,” comes Karen’s exaggerated response. She seems to be biting back a laugh too. 

“He only wants me for my organizational skills.” Foggy sighs.

“That is _not_ true. Your organization skills are terrible Foggy.” Matt calls back, walking out of their small kitchen with his tea in hand and moving towards their voices. “I obviously only want you for your narration skills. The audio descriptions on-“ he starts before pausing as Foggy’s hand is suddenly on his arm. 

“Sorry buddy. Just, uh-we got a _lot_ of new stuff in today and it’s kind of a mess in here. New copy machine to your left.” And now that Foggy has said it and Matt actually forces himself to concentrate and map out the space around him he realizes that it’s true. His mental map is now significantly inaccurate which means he’s going to have to be focusing all damn day to keep from hitting anything. 

“Thanks Fog.” He mumbles, taking one step to his right to keep away from the new bulk of metal, glass, and ink that is apparently a copier. “Guess I should probably keep my cane on hand today then.” He sighs.

“Probably a good bet until you get used to the new floor plan.” Foggy agrees.

“I’ll try and get everything settled into its proper place ASAP so things stop shifting so much.” Karen adds and Matt tilts his head towards the sound of her voice in acknowledgment. He is still not exactly sure how he feels about her. She likes to _dig_ into things _,_ which he knows he really shouldn’t be agitated about, he targeted her for that exact damn personality trait. But it means he has to be careful at his own work now to make sure he doesn’t have anything incriminating here. He is pretty sure Foggy is keeping an eye on her though, even without Matt having to ask him to, which is helpful. Still, he should probably ask Foggy to figure out where, exactly, all of these new office supplies came from. 

“Thanks Karen. That would be helpful.” He offers just as he hears Foggy curse under his breath and the sound of Foggy pulling a cloth out of the front pocket of his suit jacket. 

“Hold still dude. You nicked yourself shaving.” He says as Matt feels a press of the cloth to his neck before it starts to _scrub._

“Shaving? I’m pretty sure thats still stubble you’ve got there Mister Murdock.” He hears Karen comment but it’s teasing so Matt doesn’t worry.

“Damn, did I miss a spot again?” He asks in faked seriousness and he laughs as Karen responds with: “ya. All over your face.”

The blood does remind him though, he had a question to ask: “speaking of a close shave, you guys hear anything on the news about a Russian getting his head cut off? In Hell's Kitchen?”

Foggy groans from in front of him and suddenly the cloth at his neck is gone and, supposedly, the blood too. “That joke was terrible Mathew. Gallows humor? Really?”

Matt gives him a practiced sheepish grin and it gets a huffed laugh out of Foggy so really, it couldn’t have been that bad. “This city.” He hears the hairs at the nape of Foggy’s head brush along his collar. He must have shaken his head. “Bad enough you get mugged, now they chop your melon off. What's next, groping corpses?”

Matt opens his mouth to reply when a knock comes to the door. Their door. He hears both Karen and Foggy’s clothing shift as they turn to it. Matt doesn’t bother. He just reaches out with his other senses. 

“Excuse.” A woman’s voice comes through as the door opens, she has an accent, Spanish, and she smells of ivory soap, a floral perfume heavy with roses, and a scent that is very distinct to the elderly. She’s also been crying recently if the hint of salt is anything to go on. “Is this, um...Señor Foggy law?”

———

“Bess Mahoney? Brett's mom?” Foggy asks from where he is sitting to Matt’s left and Matt smiles.

“Sí, she refer me.” The woman confirms and Matt tilts his head in Foggy’s direction.

“Always knew your contacts would pay off.” He teases and Foggy lightly hits him under the table. It makes Matt laugh under his breath. 

“Dece que llevar puros.”

Matt laughs more openly at that and leans just a little across the table to smirk at her, “Seguro de que Foggy estaría encantado de traerte también.” He winks over his glasses and with the way she giggles he must have done a good job of it.

He sits back in his chair and relaxes, “So Mrs. Cardenas, cuéntanos qué posó.”

“Mi casa es rent-control.” She starts, she seems a little more relaxed now which is good. “But the landlord, Señor Tully…”

“Armand Tully? Sleaze bag owns buildings all over town.” Foggy cuts in, it's good clarification to have.

“Sí, y señor Tully…” she hesitates, 

“It’s okay Mrs. Cardenas, my partner speaks Spanish, he can translate anything you need him to.” Foggy reassures her, “and Japanese and Mandarin if you know anyone in need of that.” Foggy adds and Matt chuckles just a little, Foggy, always trying to get them more work, “am I missing any Matt?”

“Ya. The fact that you speak Punjabi.” Matt reminds him since Foggy chronically forgets to sell himself in all of this too.

“Right right. You know anyone that wants to chat in Punjabi, I'm your man Mrs. C.” Foggy offers with a smile in his voice. It’s such a stark contrast between how he acted with Karen and Healy, it just reminds Matt of just how good Foggy is at working people.

Mrs. Cardenas’s voice is fond as she answers and it’s obvious Foggy’s tactic has worked. “Gracias Senor Foggy, Senor Murdock, significa mucho.”

“Es no problema Mrs. Canddenas,” Matt reasurs her with a soft smile. “Por favor continua.”

She does after a moment of thinking and when she does her voice is a little more serious. “Quiere convertir el edificio en condominios de lujo y querecharlos.” 

“He wants to convert the building into luxury condominiums and he wants them out.” Matt translates for Foggy and he hears him scribbling down some notes. 

“Hombres llegaron semana atrás, haciendo se pasar por obreros. Demolido nuestros pisos con mazos.” She goes on, pausing for Matt to translate, though her voice is getting a little more frantic.

“Men came weeks ago, posing as workers. They destroyed the apartments with Sledgehammers.” Matt offers.

“Brutal.” He hears Foggy mumble under his breath, likely too low for Mrs. Cardenas to hear. “Effective but brutal...Go on, Mrs. Cardenas.”

“There is damage, en todas partes.” 

“Everywhere.” Matt clarifies and Foggy huffs out a low laugh.

“Ya. I pieced that one together buddy.”

“Los fregaderos y los tubos ya no trabajo, no tenemos Agua y electricidad durante dias.” and ya, she is definitely getting worked up now.

“They have no working sinks or pipes. They don't have water or electricity for days.” Matt goes on as Mrs. Cardenas does, no longer pausing for Matt to translate which he doesn’t really care either way. 

“We call policía. We speak to the officer. Pero Ellos no ayudan. Policía say, "It is a city issue." No sabemos que asser.”

“The police can’t help and they don't know what to do.” Matt offers, a frown of thought on his features. 

“This says Tully offered them 10,000 to give up their rent control and vacate the premises. Maybe we can pressure him into giving a better payout.” Foggy offers, which Matt thinks is a reasonable and simple solution, they should be able to easily get the guy to triple that but before he can speak his agreement Mrs. Cardenas is talking again.

“No, Señor Foggy. We do no want money. We want to stay in our homes.” which...great.

In truth It’s a boring case, but they are still building their business and Matt is specifically trying to build it as a central foundation for people just like this to come to them for help. A small, clean, unobtrusive, and _safe_ law practice. This is the kind of case he wants them to take and, well, it will be something to keep Foggy safe and distant until Matt can finish off his little Fisk project.

Matt speaks up before Foggy can “Mrs. Cardanes, vamos a ser tu dolor que padamas, Foggy hablar a con su abogado de la gente dores de trade y esta un contacto.”

“Oh, Gracias señor Murdock, Gracias.”

“Bueno” he says, standing to show her out, behind him Foggy moves to stand, obviously caught off guard. Thankfully Karen is at the door as soon as Matt opens it to take over showing Mrs. Cardenas out.

“I heard you say my name. Why'd you say my name?” Foggy asks a little frantically and just a little bit upset. Matt _smirks._

“I told her you're going to talk to Tully's lawyer.” He says, turning his head towards Foggy’s general direction as he exits their conference room as soon as Mrs. Cardenas is gone. 

“Tully's lawyer?” Foggy asks and it’s almost a squeak. Cute, “Do you know who reps him?”

Matt laughs darkly at that, turning to make sure Foggy can see his sharp smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“Landman and Zack!” Foggy yells indigent, “Landman and mother-freakin' Zack, man!”

“Ooh, sounds impressive,” comes Karen’s voice from where she has moved back behind the desk that they have set up for her, “Are they looking to hire?”

“Oh, you wouldn't be happy.” Foggy grumbles, he seems to be still looking at Matt though since Matt didn’t hear the shifting of his clothes “We used to intern there.”

“Oh, right.”

“And they offered us a job,” Foggy goes on, there is a swoosh of air as he likely throws his hands up, “a great job. Which we turned down to go off and save the world or something.” Which, ya, best to let Karen keep thinking that was the case. Good thinking Foggy. “Now they hate us. We'll need to ‘load for bear’ if we're gonna take them on.”

“I'll hit the precinct to check for complaints against Tully.” Matt offers since it is the perfect excuse he needs to head to the precinct anyway and he’s not about to lose the opportunity.

“I can't go to L and Z alone.” And oh that’s a _whine_ in Foggy’s voice now, “They're gonna shark attack me, Matt. Look at me, I'm delicious.”

“Given that I can’t look I guess the only other option is for me to bite you.” Throws right back.

“Gross Murdock. I will file a sexual harassment claim.” He fake-threatens and Matt laughs

“Well, take Karen.” He offers, it would actually be good to involve her in this. It might pull her attention away from whatever else she has been getting her hands into. Switch her focus to something safe and not involved in anything Matt is currently doing.

The suggestion seems to genuinely throw Foggy and be stammers out; “I mean, yeah, if she wants to.”

“Oh...sure.” Comes Karen’s hesitant reply. She also seems surprised which is not unexpected, they have been keeping her pretty far from their cases so far. “Never seen sharks feed up close before.” She offers to break the tension that has built up which Matt appreciates. 

“Try not to splash too much. It attracts 'em.” Matt offers which pulls a fake laugh from Foggy.

“You both are so funny.” He grumbles but before Matt can escape out the door Foggy has grabbed his arm and gone out with him into the hall.

“Matt.” Foggy starts, so quiet as to almost not be vocal at all, “Is this another Healy case?” He hears Foggy ask, his hand tight on Matt’s bicep and Matt realizes that he is _worried_. He must have heard what happened to Healy then, even if Matt had tried to keep that news from him. Brett probably. Matt always underestimates Foggy’s news network. 

Matt moves his own hand up to cover Foggy’s own and gives him a comforting look, one he saves only for Foggy when he needs to reassure him that everything is alright.

“No. It’s not. And I mean that. This case isn’t involved.”

“Then why-“ Foggy asks and Matt just squeezes Foggy’s hand tighter. 

“Because I think it’s important that we encourage people coming to us like this.” He offers softly, “Through word of mouth. I promise Foggy. I do. I wouldn’t be letting Karen get involved if it wasn’t.”

He hears Foggy sigh and feels him squeeze his arm just a little before letting go. “Alright. I trust you. Tell Brett I say hi.”

“We’ll see.” he smiles gently and sways forward slightly before backing off, needing to break the heavy air around them, “See you soon Foggy. Good luck with the sharks.”

“Screw you too Murdock,” Foggy snorts which is good and then he is gone, back inside, and Matt turns away once more to head to the precinct and see what he can find out about Detective Blake.

\-----------

“Oh great, who invited the Devil in.” Brett’s voice greets him as he is approaching the front desk of the precinct, there is no joke in his voice. He means every hate filled word. 

Matt puts on his most charming smile and returns in as much a friendly voice as he can. “Sergeant... how's your mom?”

“Nu-uh Murdock. You don’t get to ask about my mom. You know the rules.” The sergeant says and Matt hums, rocking back on his heels. 

“Foggy says hi.” Matt says instead which he knows is an even worse move and, lo-and-behold, two seconds later:

“Are you looking to get punched Murdock? I might put up with you for Foggy’s sake but he ain’t here right now.” 

Matt just smiles wider. 

The thing with Brett is that he is Foggy’s friend. He is Foggy’s _good_ friend. A friend from before Matt entered Foggy’s life and, well, he doesn’t like Matt. At all. Matt isn’t exactly sure what Brett sees when he looks at him, what cracks in his facade the man sees that so many others fail to, but he sees _something_ , some _Devil_ , that made him dislike Matt pretty much from ‘Go’. So much so that he tried to warn Foggy off of him. 

Matt really hadn’t liked that, at all, and they had had _problems,_ at least until Foggy had found out and stepped in. Since then they have had a truce, just a little one, to keep on eachothers good side, for Foggy’s sake. 

Sadly Matt likes to push at that line a little too often.

“Sorry Sargent.” Matt offers, still smiling, “Won’t mention my business partner again.” His word choice is purposeful, he knows how much Brett hates that Foggy went into business with Matt, “but I am here about a friend of your mom’s,” he goes on and he hears Brett groan, “she has a case we're looking into. I take it by that reaction you know what I’m talking about.”

“Ya.” Brett agrees and there is less hostility in his voice now that they are talking business, but he still doesn’t sound pleased, “And I will have you know my mom referred her to _Foggy,_ not you.”

“I kinda got that when she came in.” Matt laughs lightly and leans gently against the desk Brett was behind. “Called him Señor Foggy, it was cute.” 

“I’m sure it was adorable.” Brett deadpans. They fall into silence which is more tense then awkward. If Matt could see he is sure that they would be staring each other down, waiting for the other to move. Because he can’t though Matt just stands in the silence and waits. 

Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait too long before Brett is sighing again and standing, “It’s a case against Tully right?” and now he is 100 percent business so Matt follows suit. 

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Yeah. Yeah, guy's a real scumbag.” Brett offers, and there is something unsaid in that statement that Matt is almost sure is ‘ _almost as bad as you_ ’ which he ignores. “But he stays just this side of ordinance,” Brett goes on, “so there's nothing we can do.”

Matt hums and wonders if them winning this case will make Brett trust him more. He doubts it. “Can you pull some copies of the complaints?”

Brett is silent for a long moment, obviously deciding if he wants to make Matt’s life hard just because he can before he sighs, probably realizing that making Matt’s life harder directly translates to making Foggy's life harder too. “Maybe,” he offers, “get me a minute or two with the officers who took them. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you Sargent.” Matt coos up at him and he hears Brett call back to him as he is walking away. “Don’t push your luck Murdock!”

Matt laughs to himself as he moves to take a seat at the provided benches to listen, hoping Brett won’t be back before he gets the information he needs. 

His senses flow around the precinct as he sits, jumping from one conversation to the next to the next until finally: “any word on the Russians?” A voice, a man’s, says. It’s not coming from inside the precinct though, it’s out back by where Matt knows they park the patrol cars.

“None yet. If you ask me my bet is that whoever is going around killing them is working for him already.”

“You tell him that it’s making our job harder?” Says the first voice. “He’s usually better at covering this stuff up and now we’ve got four new bodies on top of the three from two days ago.”

“What do you want me to do Carl? It’s not like I can control the man and I definitely don’t want to be caught crossing him.” 

“Ya.” The first man agrees and there is a spike in his heart rate as he says it. Matt is too far away to smell if it is because of fear or because it’s a lie. 

Either way these two men seem to be the ones he wants and so he spends the next few long minutes before Brett gets back memorizing everything he can about them to come back to later. 

\--------------------------

Later ends up being that night and, as much as this isn’t a man in the mask situation Matt isn’t willing to risk getting caught strong arming and killing a cop just outside the precinct, so Mask it is. It’s annoying but, well, he consoles himself with the thought that he can make this work, he can start making the police doubt Fisk and his people, and if nothing else, he will get the oh so satisfying feeling of breaking bones with his bare hands.

And oh how beautifully they snap. 

The man tries to scream but Matt has a gloved hand pressed to his mouth to keep him from talking. Beside him he hears a phone buzzing. The man must have dropped it. 

“Scream and that arm becomes your good one.” Matt threatens once he has the detective under his control and feels the man slowly nod. He doesn’t pull his hand away just yet. “You lie to me and I _will_ hurt you.” He says, tightening his grip on the man’s broken hand and feeling more than hearing the man whimper under his fingers. 

“I’m looking for someone and, word has it you can point me in their direction.” And the man is trembling, “Vladimir, I’m sure the name is familiar to you.” Matt grins and it’s not the Man in the Mask’s grin. “I killed his brother not too long ago. Smashed in his head. Or so they are saying.” He feels the man swallow and Matt gets out a low and soft chuckle. “Now I am going to uncover your mouth and you are going to tell me where I can find him, got it?”

A nod. But before that Matt had felt something else. A slight turn of the man’s head to the left, not like he had been trying to escape, but maybe like he was trying glancing at something he couldn’t see over Matt’s forum? He can’t be sure, he can never be sure, but he would bet good money that it was that cell phone that had been buzzing not long ago.

Matt removes his hand. “I don't know where he is!” The man says and his heart is a skitter jump in Matt’s ear as he tightens his hold on the man’s hand. The man bites back a scream. Good. “I swear! I swear! I swear! Please. Please.” 

Truth. How upsetting. 

“I heard you and your partner chatting today.” Matt says, changing the topic, “sounds like you are dissatisfied with the way Fisk’s handling his little empire.” Matt hums, listening to the man’s heart jump, “and your not the only one either it seems. There is a new player on the board.” Matt prompts, “one who is going around killing the Russians since Fisk seems to be having trouble controlling his own men. A shame really, given how much work he had to put into getting them that little cab company.”

“Who-who are you?” The detective asks, and he had been scared before but he is terrified now.

“Just a good samaritan.” Matt lies, but pressed to keep the conversation on topic. “You know anything about the man going around killing the Russians?”

“N-no. No. We-we thought he must have been a Fisk hire. Or you but the-the MO didn’t fit. The guy uses a sword, at least for the bodies we’ve managed to find. If it’s not Fisk…”

The man trails off and Matt backs away, letting him go. The man doesn’t reach for his gun, maybe too surprised by this information to do so “Like I said detective, it seems like there is a new player of the board, taking advantage of the little bit of chaos I’ve stirred into this mix.” He grabs the phone that the man had dropped earlier. He doesn’t give it back. “I suggest you keep your head down until Hell’s Kitchen decides which of the three of us will win.”

He leaves the man in stunned silence and makes his way back up to the roof tops. Hopefully that little chat will be enough to plant the seeds of doubt in the dear detectives mind and that he will spread them as Matt needs him to.

\-------------

Matt goes to change and then heads to the roof of his apartment where he senses Otomo already waiting. 

“Otomo.”

“Master Murdock.”

“I have been thinking lately. Wondering.” He turns the phone over in his hands, “if I can truly trust you.”

“We are both of the Hand Master Murdock.” Comes the prompt and frankly formal reply, “We can only trust each other so far as the interests of the Hand permit it.”

“And right now the Hand does not trust me.” It’s a statement, not a question. Still, Otomo’s silence is answer enough.

“And yet they are not stepping in to stop my little side project.” He presses on, “which either means they approve of it, or they are letting me keep myself busy.” He tilts his head towards Otomo, listening, “the hand is doing something in my city aren’t they Otomo? Something they are keeping from me but that they are letting you in on.”

Otomo again stays quiet. Matt hums. “Well then. I suppose if your current orders are to keep me distracted and busy then I can trust you enough with this. Here.” He tosses the phone over to him. “It was buzzing. What is the message?”

He hears Otomo catch the phone with ease and the soft click of buttons soon after “There is a text. a list of locations. Four of them. 47th and 12th. 48th and 9th.42nd and 10th. 44th and 11th. All come from a non-listed number.”

“44th and 11th?”

“Yes.”

“The Troika Restaurant.” Matt hums “Where they were holding that boy.”

“As you say Master Murdock.”

“These addresses, they're listing where the Russians are.” It’s not a question either. It’s a statement. 

”What are your orders Master Murdock?” Otomo asks as Matt hears him closing the phone. He does not ask for it back.

“Fisk is up to something. The Russians have become to risky. Too emotional for him to keep around. I’ve made sure of that.” He rocks back and forth on his heels, tapping a small rhythm on the top of his cane as he thinks, “He is likely ordering hits on each of these sights. Tell our men to keep away from them. I don’t want anyone getting needlessly injured in the cross hairs. And I want you to go underground, You know where, and prepare a safe passage out of the city.”

“Where will you be going Master Murdock?”

The rhythm that Matt his tapping gets a little faster at the question as he thinks long and hard before answering. It’s not like Otomo won’t know by the end of the night. 

“I'm going to get the last remaining leader of the Russian mob. I’m betting good money I'll find Vladimir at one of these locations.”

“You plan to use him against this man Fisk?” Otomo asks, sounding just slightly confused, “I had thought your goal was to kill them all.”

“Oh, it was,” Matt confirms, “but I’m nothing if not malleable. I’m betting that after whatever it is Fisk has planned for tonight that this Vladimir will be willing to sing like a canary. In fact,” he grins, “I’m counting on it.”

\------------

Matt only had the vaguest sense of who Vladimir was. He had heard the name, heard maybe their voice. But it had been with a cacoffiny of others when he hadn’t been focusing well enough to pick him apart.

And so he was sad to admit that he was running a bit on luck and a bit more on prayers to a God he was pretty sure didn’t even like him any more. Not that Matt could blame him of course. His sins, well, they just kept piling up didn't they?

But it seemed that tonight, at least, he had found favor with his God as he made his way to the second location of the night and heard the name he was hoping to hear and a reply in a voice that sounded familiar enough for him to put his bets on.

He relaxed back on a nearby roof after making rounds to all the other buildings and ‘dealing’ with their security cameras. If he needed to approach the last thing he wanted was to be caught on camera. Then he Waited. Whatever Fisk was going to do tonight it would likely happen soon. It seemed that the Russians were preparing something big after all, Matt could _smell_ the amount of ammunition they had on them from here. Perhaps the Russians had gotten word that Fisk was planning something too? It would seem like it. He doubted all of that was for him.

A noise below brought Matt’s attention back outside of the warehouse, a man approaching that smelled a lot like explosives and, oh.

Oh. 

“Delivery. Gao.” A voice said from inside as Matt quickly moved to put a wall between him and the building the Russians were in.

“We expecting another delivery from Gao?” He covered his ears as best he could. This was going to hurt.

The whole world shook around him and heat licked at his body from where he had braced himself. His ears _rang_ as the explosion echoed back and forth in his ears or-no. No that wasn’t right. Explosions. Other ones from other places around the city. Multiple locations were going up his heat and shattered glass and gunpowder.

It would seem Fisk had set the world on fire.

\---------------

His God was apparently still on his side as, once he could hear past the ringing in his ears, the first thing he heard was a frantic “Vladimir! Vladimir! We must go! Quickly.”

Two heartbeats then. Coughing too. Matt tracks them as the moved his way to escape the inferno behind them. More luck it would seem.

He moved. 

“You are hurt.” The man helping Vladimir says, he recognizes the voice as the man who had attacked Miss Temple. He is glad now that he had gone to that little meeting in his mask. That he had kept this man alive.

“I will live.” Came Vladimir’s reply, “And see Fisk and his masked dog pay for what they did.”

“Well if that is what you want, I believe I can be of service.” Matt says as he stepped forward out of the shadows, his cane placed over his shoulder. He knew he was a sight as the two men’s hearts jumped.

“Who the fuck are you?” Not-Vladimir, What was his name? Ah, Sirgue, that sounded familiar at least. 

“A man who has similar interests to your own.” He offered, “See, I’m not too pleased with how Fisk is running things around here.” He sweeps his hand out to indicate to the raging fire beyond. “And I intend to bring him down.”

A laugh, which quickly turns to rough coughing. “Ya? You and what army? If we couldn’t do it what makes you think you can?”

“I can because he’s not expecting me.” Matt explains, “in fact I’m not even in his raider. He doesn’t even know I exist and, therefore, cannot plan for me. Now then.” He smiles widely, rocking on his feet, “as lovely as this is, we have about six minutes before the cops, all Fisk's men of course, arrive to kill you, but I have a way out. A way to get you out of this city and wherever you want to go.”

There is a pause, the rasping breath of both men as they try to breath into smoke filled lungs. “The cost?” Vladimir finally asks and Matt _s_ _mirks,_ knowing that he has won.

“Information." He says simply, "On Fisk and his little empire.”

“You plan to kill him?” Vladimir’s voice demands, hard and angry.

“Oh, I plan to do far worse than that.” Matt offers soothingly, “I plan to dismantle everything he has created and watch it crumble under his feet.”

Matt could hear the sirens now. They needed to move.

Vladimir’s head moves, the sound of damaged and tense muscles pulling. “Alright.” He finally agrees. Beside him his companion starts to complain but Vladimir must do something because Matt hears the words die in the man’s throat, “We will go with you. But if we don’t like what we hear: we walk.”

“Deal.” Matt agrees reaching out to shake the man’s hand. He should probably know better then to make a deal with the devil but, well, he supposes the man did just get caught in an explosion. He can’t blame him for not knowing better.

They are gone by the time the cops arrived, but only just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter to this one is from Foggy's point of view which I am super excited to share! 
> 
> After that there will be a short break to posting this story as I write up "Part II: The Hand" which this chapter should give some hints to the changes that will be taking place in those chapters from the original script~
> 
> Until then I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> (PS: My Spanish is...rough and mostly just conversational but it is important to me, as a latine person, to have the language actually being spoken in the story.  
> That said: If you know Mandarin I would love to be able to fix the conversations in here to have them in Mandarin with italicized translations in English at the end like I did for the Spanish in the last chapter. Likewise I have some conversations coming up that will be in Japanese in the next section that I would like to do the same thing for. I might never be able to meet that goal but, I figured I might as well see if any readers would be interested.  
> PPS: I didn't do this for the Russian because Matt doesn't know Russian and so there wasn't really anything for him to 'hear'.)


	6. Condemned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Foggy Interlude: Foggy goes to find his friend

### The Russians Part V: Condemned

#### A Foggy Interlude. 

_And as you lay rotting deep underground,_

_I will keep digging until you are found_

———

The thing with loving someone and being loved by someone that lives a double life is that you always existed just on the periphery of their activities. A small comment here, a little bit of missing paperwork there, a string of suspect events that you don’t let yourself look too closely at. Patterns that you knew, if you took the time to really sit and piece together, would give you a full image, but that you choose to never do. A puzzle you never solve because it’s safer and better for everyone involved if you don’t. Because not knowing keeps you, not necessarily safe, but usually alive.

Right now though Foggy wishes he had listened to the patterns a little bit closer, or at least asked Matt if there were any parts of town he should be avoiding in the foreseeable future, because being caught in an explosion was decisively _not fun._

His ears and ringing and his side hurts but he’s got a whole building of people to try and help evacuate so he does as Matt thought him, he breathes and pushes his pain aside, and trucks on. Checking apartment after apartment, starting with the ones closest to the explosion and working his way out, getting help from other people who are still capable of walking to get those that aren’t out. He is veguly aware of Karen at the start of everything but at some point she vanished and Foggy is pretty sure it’s because he ordered her to head out with Mrs. Cardenas. He thinks maybe there had been a fight - her refusing to leave him maybe? - but with his ears still ringing and his head is pounding and the memory seems unimportant in the grand scheme of everything else.

Eventually he makes it to the bottom floor of the apartment complex. He’s breathing hard and there are ambulances everywhere but all of them are preoccupied with the worst of the people there. He takes another deep breath, his side burning again, and pushes it away. “Come on.” He tells Karen, “it will be faster to get a cab to the hospital instead.” And it is, Metro General is only a few blocks away and the whole ride he presses a cloth to Mrs. Cardenas's head to stop the bleeding until they make it into the emergency room and she is whisked away.

He is still breathing hard and he really hopes that that’s a by-product of the adrenaline and not something to do with the pain in his side and then Karen is saying, “oh God Foggy! You’re bleeding!” And, ya, that sounds about right.

“Don’t worry.” He tells her gently as she tries to get him into a chair that is probably better served for someone else who isn’t used to this kind of stuff. He can see the blood now and it’s hardly anything really given the amount of time it’s been since the explosion. It won’t kill him. Matt can probably just sew it up for him and it will be fine in just a few weeks. “Karen It’s fine. I’ve just got to call Matt-“ he tries to reassure her but that seems to send her on a spiral of worry and telling him that he needs to take care of himself first and that _she_ will call Matt which is stupid really. Matt’s probably busy right now and in the thick of this so there is no way he is going to answer which-

Oh. He’s in shock.

The realization startles him enough to get his mind back on track, or at least to recognize how stupid his plan was to get Matt to fix him because, ya, there is no way Matt has time for him right now and two, he’s already at the damn hospital and unlike Matt he’s got no issues being there.

And so he walks up to the nearest nurse, shows them his side, and in an instant both Karen and him are whisked away to get it sorted out.

———

Karen is still frantically trying to call Matt on a number that Foggy knows for a fact Matt’s not going to be picking up tonight. Foggy lays watching her, just slightly elevated on a hospital bed. Behind her the news is reporting on the bombing and the manhunt for anyone associated with them. For some reason they are talking as if it was a one-man job which seems pretty odd but given that Foggy’s head is swimming with some pretty good painkillers he lets it go. 

“Matt, it's Karen, again. Uh, where are you? Would you just please give us a call when you get this?” He hears Karen ask and he turns his attention back to her as she mumbles “He's still not answering.”

“Did you try his apartment?” He asks, just to try and make it seem like he is actually worried too, which he is, don’t get him wrong, he’s just knows Matt a little better then she does. Or a lot better really. 

“Three times.” she wrings her hands around her phone and turns to him, looking upset and panicked. “How are you not panicking?!”

“You’re jumping to conclusions.” He tries, making sure his voice is comforting. “Also I think I’m in shock and on a lot of pain killers so that is probably helping too.” He smiles but she’s not even looking at him. Just pacing. Obviously joking isn’t going to be working right now. 

“Well, he's a blind guy in a war zone. Seems like jumping is a pretty reasonable option.”

He swallows down an automatic response of _You don't know him like I do._ And instead asks softly, “Hey Karen, why don’t you go check downstairs, make sure Matt hasn't been brought in?” because he knows that sometimes the only way to strive off panic is to keep busy. 

He does it a lot himself after all. 

Her shoulder seem to slump at that and he knows it was the right thing to say as she nods. “Ya. Ya alright. I’ll go do that. I’ll…” she hesitates at the door, “Are you going to be okay Foggy?” She asks, finally seeming to remember that he was also sitting here injured. He gives her a soft smile. 

“I’ll be fine Karen. Go.” and, just because he can he jokes, “Hell of a first date, huh?”

That does get a laugh out of her as she turns to go “I've, uh...actually had worse.”

Foggy thinks that, ya, so has he. 

\---------

The thing with Matt is that he has _people_ . But the people that Matt has are not the kind of people that look out for him. They are the kind of people that make sure Matt isn’t stepping out of line and that he isn’t rocking whatever boat they are all on in any substantial way. They are not the kind of people that call him unless it’s business, they aren’t the kind of people that bring him coffees when he is obviously doing his best not to pass out, they aren’t the kind of people that wipe at the blood on his lip when he manages to split it again, and they _definitely_ aren’t the kind of people to make sure that he hasn’t gotten blown up in an explosion that rocked the whole of Hell’s Kitchen.

No. No that is Foggy’s job, for better or for worse, because Foggy is the closest thing Matt has to family and he knows, even if Matt doesn’t, that Matt would do the same for him.

And so he gives Karen a few minutes to get to a different part of the hospital before Foggy forces himself out of bed, doing those breathing practices that Matt always helped him through that were supposed to help with pain and keep him from passing out, and makes his way out of the hospital. 

He stops by Matt’s apartment first, because he isn’t an idiot and there is a decent chance that this actually has nothing to do with Matt, no matter how sketchy Matt has been lately, but Matt isn’t home when Foggy lets himself in and so he raids Matt’s closet for some comfortable clothes for him just in case he needs a change and a duffel bag to stick it all in. He digs around for one of his own shirts that he _knows_ Matt has since Matt likes to steal his shit all the time and he very carefully takes off his own bloodstained shirt he had been forced to put back on at the hospital and pulls the new one on instead. 

Outside he hears Matt’s phone ringing “Karen Karen Karen” and, a few minutes later, as he is finishing up, he feels his own phone vibrating in his pocket. He ignores them both and heads out. 

\----------

“...authorities ask that you contact them immediately.” He hears through someone's open window above him and he pauses. His side is hurting and he needs a moment and so taking a second to eavesdrop on the news seems like a pretty good option. “A deadly shooting just moments ago as three of New York's finest have been gunned down in Hell's Kitchen. We still have little information as to who.” The news person goes on and Foggy is pretty damn sure then and there that this has nothing to do with Matt because that? Gunning people down? That isn’t Matt’s little ‘death cult’ groups MO at all. As far as Foggy _does not know thank you very much,_ They are more the ‘kill you from the shadows with lots of knives’ type.

He’s about to collect himself and push on again when the News Anchors seem to get excited about something and then they are saying “The authorities have just released some video. This is taken just moments after the explosions that stunned Hell's Kitchen earlier tonight, pulled from a security camera-” and oh, that can’t be good and so Foggy digs out his own phone, dismissing the number of missed calls and texts he has been getting from Karen, and instead pulls up a site steaming the news instead. 

They are playing a clip of a man in a mask, supposedly _the_ man in a mask, beating the shit out of a few cops. It’s violent and a little clumsy, a street brawl. It’s the first time anyone has gotten the masked man on camera and it’s not a great image. Still, Foggy wasn’t sure what he expected but it wasn’t...this. The guy moves like he’s trained, but his movements are rougher, powerful in a more physical way than Foggy would have expected showing he is relying heavily on his strength in this fight rather than his skill. It’s the same kind of fighting Foggy has seen a lot with hired thugs and somewhere in the back of his mind he admits to himself that he had honestly been expecting the masked man to be Matt. It would explain the uptick in Matt’s injuries. It would explain Karen’s own running into the vigilante, hell it would have probably even explained Matt’s absence tonight. But this man definitely is not Matt. It’s kind of unsettling to realize. When Matt had been the man in the mask Foggy had felt safe, but if the Man I’d the Mask is just another vigilante? Well...Foggy wasn’t sure where he would fall on the guys ‘good guy/bad guy’ list but he had a pretty damn good idea where Matt would fall.

Was the reason for the uptick in Matt’s injuries because of the Man in the Mask? Was whatever Matt was currently up to an attempt to take down the new vigilante? Or was the new vigilante just an unexpected third player in whatever mess was going on in Hell’s Kitchen these days? And what did it mean that this vigilante had saved Karen? Was that a good or bad thing for him and Matt? Does that mean they were being _watched_ and monitored _?_

Foggy sighs and puts his phone away, figuring he’ll deal with the actually-unknown vigilante and what that could mean for him and Matt later and instead continues his search. He has the number to Matt’s burner, but he also knows enough not to call Matt right now. If he’s in some kind of meeting he’ll only draw attention to himself and Matt and so, instead, he wanders, slowly and carefully around the Kitchen, making it obvious that he is looking. He knows that, in the end, Matt will find _him_ long before he finds Matt.

———

They run into each other outside of an old access tunnels down into the cities underground. Matt is whistling happily to himself and swinging his cane in a circle before he seems to take notice of Foggy, a little shocking given how close Foggy already is, and smiles widely.

“Brought you a change of clothes.” Foggy tells him as he comes closer, “I hope you know yours are covered in rubble. Did you get caught in the explosion?”

“I was close by.” Matt confirms, taking the bag and opening it just enough to get his hand in and feel around. “I hope you weren't worried. “

Foggy hums and shrugs. “I just shrugged. I know you better than to worry too much, but I figured I would make sure to be out and about for you to run into just in case.” He explains, “I stole one of my shirts back by the way. Mine got ruined.”

Matt seems to pause then, his head tilting, before dropping the duffel bag to the side and moving closer into Foggy’s space. Foggy doesn’t move back and let’s Matt reach out for him, his hand’s searching.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Not any more.” Foggy reassures him as Matt’s hands find some of the smaller scrapes around his face and arms, “I’m surprised you only just noticed.”

“A lot of people have been bleeding tonight and the air is full of gunpowder and debris. It’s throwing my sense of smell off a bit.” Matt confesses as his hands find the bandage at Foggy’s side. “Let me see.” By which Foggy knows he means feel.

Foggy sighs and lifts up his shirt, “me and Karen were at Mrs. Cardenas's. She insisted on dinner.” He hisses as Matt’s fingers lightly press over the bandage, feeling the stitches beneath, “got a piece of window glass in my side. Just a two inch gash, didn’t get anything vital. Mostly just fat.” He tries to joke but Matt’s got his serious face on. Foggy sighs and covers Matt’s hand with his own.

“Seriously Matt. I’m fine. Even got to go to the hospital this time and everything.” He doesn’t say he’s been through worse, he has two fingernails still growing back that say that well enough on their own, “All I want to do right now is get you changed, find us a twenty-four hour dinner, and eat as many pancakes as we can get away with.”

That seems to pull Matt out of whatever funk he was going under and he smiles. “Alright Foggy.” He agrees, finally hefting the bag back up. “I think I can do that.”

“Oh and hey,” He says conversationally as they finally start making their way down the sidewalk, Matt’s hand lightly holding the back of his arm as his cane starts a rhythmic tap in front of them, “did you hear? they are saying the masked man did the bombings.”

“....they _what?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for joining me for Part 1 of this story!! I will now be taking a bit of a break to put together the next part (I tend to like to have all parts mostly completed before I post them) but hopefully this sample will give you something to look forward to~
> 
> Sample of Daredevil Netflix re-write Part 2: The Hand
> 
> “I said,” that voice, that voice, says “Are you going to lie there all night or get up off your ass?”
> 
> “You can’t be here.” Matt forces out through a throat that has become too tight even as he forces himself up, more out of muscle memory then truly wanting to, “You were dead. Are dead.” 
> 
> He hears Stick hum and, fuck. Fuck. The bastard even smells the same. Matt needs to reach out, he needs to feel. To make sure he is actually real and not some ghost haunting him. “You of all people should know,” Stick is telling him, “that death isn’t always that permanent.”


	7. Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I which someone Matt thought was long dead comes back into his life.

### The Hand Part 1: Stick

_To love is to hold a weakness in your heart_

_To love is to feel nothing but pain_

\-------

“Devil, my shapely Irish ass. Guys a coward. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to rip that corny mask off and…” Foggy is ranting and Matt has to bite back a smirk at his word choice.

“And what?” Comes Karen’s voice across from him. She’s been keeping close lately, after the accident. She apparently hadn’t liked that Foggy and him and vanished that night, even if Foggy had explained that he hadn’t realized his phone had been damaged in the explosions - and oh how he had happily forced Matt to buy him a new one for that alibi, not that Matt truly minded. She had been outside of Matt’s apartment, looking stormy and pissed by the time both of them had managed to drag themselves back to his place. 

Matt had honestly forgotten that Karen knew where he lived and he had very suddenly regretted having allowed her to obtain that knowledge, no matter how advantageous it had been at the time. Thankfully Foggy had managed to cover for them with some quick words but had then forced Matt to play host to both him and Karen the rest of the morning. Payback, Matt was sure, for forcing Foggy to lie for him to her. 

“Punch him, in the face, with my...fisticuffs.” Foggy finishes, bringing Matt back to the present. He lets out a small laugh, though it’s a little odd to hear Foggy’s heart beat ‘truth’ as he says it. Matt wonders what he has done as the Mask to piss Foggy off. Then again, Foggy has never been a big fan of vigilantes. It will be entertaining when Foggy finally figures out about the Mask. He thought he had been dropping some hints, had honestly thought Foggy had already put two and two together but, well, with everything going on and with the new footage, he can see where messages were getting crossed. From the way Foggy described the man in the camera images it sounds like Fisk had done a good job getting an approximation of his size and shape, enough so that people who had seen him or interacted with him likely wouldn’t know the difference on a grainy Security feed, but someone like Foggy? Well Foggy knew him well enough that even if they had found someone his exact size and build, if he didn’t fight and move like Matt, which no one really did, Foggy’s would pick up on that immediately.

“He fights like a street brawler.” Foggy told him over their 3 am breakfast the morning after the explosions. The diner they had gone to had been surprisingly crowded, mostly people who had been driven out of their damaged homes but who also weren’t injured enough to go to the hospital. All of them simply waiting for the sun to rise so they could assess the damage. “it’s actually kind of sloppy if you ask me, not that I can really judge, but I’ve seen some good fights before and this guy...I don’t know man. I’m not sure what I was expecting but maybe something a little more...well graceful? He’s supposed to be able to scale a fire escape in seconds, it’s hard to imagine this guy doing that.”

“Maybe he’s just not that graceful in a fight?” Matt had offered, his voice teasing “or maybe he got caught in an explosion and is a little off his game?”

Foggy had hummed noncommittally and just kept scrolling through his phone. Matt had been tempted to tell Foggy that the guy in the video was a fake, after all Matt hadn’t been in the Mask since he had left the precinct that night, but, well, Foggy liked a good mystery and Matt figured he could let Foggy figure this one out on his own like he usually did.

“I don’t know, he seems, uh...pretty fisticuffy.” Karen’s voice cut through his musings and...oh god.

“Please tell me I don’t detect a hint of admiration,” Foggy says, voicing Matt’s exact thoughts. He throws in “for that terrorist.” At the end which Matt probably wouldn’t have but Foggy really seems to not like ‘The Mask’ or, what are they calling him in the newspapers? ‘The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’? It’s catchy, Matt likes it.

“This is all just speculation, nobody knows if he’s a terrorist or what.” Karen is quick to defend, her heart rate jumping.

“You are absolutely right. Terrorists have causes. They claim responsibility.” Foggy pushes and...that’s his lawyer voice. Matt sits up a little straighter. Foggy is doing something, fishing for something and Matt doesn’t know what. “they want the world to know exactly what kind of assholes they are. This guy? Not a peep. All terror without the -ist. You know what they call that?” Dramatic pause for effect, Matt’s mind supplies, “Nut Job.”

“Hmmm, Maybe.” Comes Karen’s slow reply but she sounds hesitant, her heart is racing, she is upset by what Foggy has said. Matt knows that Foggy is antagonizing her or purpose, but what exactly Foggy is fishing for in all of this Matt doesn’t know.

An unexpectedly “what do you think, Matt?” Karen shoots his way actually startles him a little, causing him to jerk slightly in her direction.

“I uh, might have lost track of the conversation.” Matt admits, “what were we talking about?”

“The dickhead that’s blowing up our backyard.” Foggy clarifies for him, Foggy sounds slightly annoyed at Karen dragging Matt into the conversation, but he goes with it. “Come on, you telling me this doesn’t piss you off?” Foggy says, obviously trying to lead him in this conversation, which Matt appreciates because he is genuinely lost on what is going on here. 

Matt trusts that Foggy knows what he was doing though, so Matt replies, “I’m not happy about it, about what happened to Hell’s Kitchen, to you and to Elena and to all the people that were hurt…” which is actually the truth, “ya, it pisses me off, and if this man, whoever he is, whatever his motive, is the one that did it? Well, I for one am looking forward to his arrest and conviction.” He hummed, rocking back on his chair, “That is, if the DAs office can prove he did it.”

“Ugh. The DAs office.” He hears Foggy throw his hand up in the air, “I just threw my hands up in exasperation buddy, They’re a damn mess. Knowing them they would lose half the evidence and the guy would end up walking free!” Matt smirkes, Foggy’s hate for the DAs office was well known to any lawyer that went to school with them.

“Makes our life easier.” Matt offered, “we are criminal defense lawyers Foggy.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Foggy groans before hissing and it takes Matt a second to realize he is faking pain.

“You okay?” Matt asked, voice going a little softer. It’s almost an automatic thing now, anytime Foggy is in pain, real or not.

“Ya. Ya I’m fine.” Comes the expected offer and-

“I’m sorry Foggy.” Karen says even softer than Matt, taking the bait just as Foggy so expertly planted it, “I get why you wouldn’t be happy with the guy given...given everything. I’m just not convinced. I met the guy and he...Ya he was a little punch happy but blowing up Hell’s Kitchen? No matter what the press says I can’t believe it.”

“You think he’s innocent.” Matt says, it’s a statement, not a question.

“I think that he deserves a due process just like anyone else.” She shoots back, “and not to just be tried and convicted by the news. I wanna make sure the right person pays for what happened.” She grumbled and Matt didn’t like the sound of that. 

She very suddenly shifted, starting to pack her bags, agitated and angry now that her defense of the Mask seemed to be falling on deaf ears. “Just a thought, but we may wanna go a bit peppier at the end of the day.” She grumbles, “Leave on a note slightly higher than deeply depressing.”

“She’s right,” and...hu. Matt still isn't exactly sure what it was that Foggy had been looking for from this conversation but apparently he had gotten it, judging by the satisfaction in his voice. “You’re bringing us down Murdock.”

“Me?” He teases, startled by the accusation but laughing at it, knowing Foggy is shifting the blame off of Karen to make her feel better. 

“High note, softball!” And, Ah, Foggy has taken up that bat he decided to bring in today. Matt wonders if that was calculated too or if he is worried about someone coming after him. Maybe Matt should put a guard on him just in case? Not that Matt thinks anything he has done can get back to him unless Vladimir decides to turn, but given their little chat after the bombings he is pretty damn sure they are on the same page.

“When are we getting a company team together?” Foggy asks and it actually draws a startled laugh from Karen.

“We have three employees,” she reminds him and Matt decides to jump into the opening to help Foggy clear the air a little more.

“At least two of them aren’t blind.” Matt offers up.

“Naysayers, each and every one of you.” Foggy complains and Matt hears him shift, following after Karen slightly from where she is packing in the main office now. “Karen, come on. Batting practice, you and me, Chelsea Piers. What do you say?” Which seems like such an odd thing for Foggy to ask, why-

“Um, I…” Karen’s heart jumps again. Nervous. 

“Or not. Totally cool.” Foggy quickly answers and-

“No no I would, I would,” she lies and Matt narrows his eyes. Wait. Wait. Are- does she think- is Foggy _flirting?_ He turns his attention to Foggy but Foggy’s heart is steady, calm and collected no matter what his words are showing. Matt knows what Foggy’s heart sounds like when he is flirting, what he smells like, and it’s not this. This is the heart Foggy wears in court when he is cross examining a witness. “It’s just that I, um, I have this thing,”

“Go.” Foggy is quick to back down but Matt’s face is scrunched in confusion. “Do that thing. Not a problem”

“Okay, so, um,” she stammers, “see you tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here, ready to high note and stuff.”

“Good.” 

And then she’s gone, the sound of her heels echoing down the hall as she goes.

Matt licks his lips.

“She thought you were flirting with her.” Matt offers up in hopes for an explanation. 

“Admittedly not my best work,” Foggy says instead, it’s not a confirmation or a denial which isn’t- “but I’m in pain.” Foggy goes on, “You can’t blame me for being off my game.”

Matt is on his feet in an instant and over at Foggy’s side.

“I Thought that was a joke.” He says, forcing Foggy’s hand away from his side which still smells like blood. 

“I got stabbed by a piece of glass Matt, we both know I’m going to be in pain for- hey. Hey.” Foggy says and his hands are suddenly on Matt’s shoulders, soothing, “don’t you get that look Murdock.”

“What look?” Matt asks through clenched teeth. 

“That look that says, ‘I’m going to track down whoever did this and beat them half to hell.” He teases, though perhaps they both know it’s a little too true to be a complete joke, “The whole thing is moot anyway. After shooting those cops, the police are probably looking to settle things the old-fashioned way if they catch up to The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.” Which, right, that’s who they are saying did all of this, though he is surprised Foggy believes it.

“Ya, it’s more than likely.” Matt agrees, not that that’s really any different from before. 

Foggy hums in return and shifts slightly against Matt’s hands. “Hey-“ he starts at the same time Matt does and Matt hears Foggy shake his head, “you first. Go for it.” 

“I’m, um-“ Matt starts, like a damn idiot. As if he hasn’t done this a thousand times, but Foggy being hurt always seems to throw him. “I’m gonna order in tonight, get a jump on this tenement case. You want to stick around? We can order from wherever you want.”

He hears the hesitation in Foggy’s silence and that makes Matt worry even more. “Sorry buddy, rain check?” He offers instead which has Matt’s heart contracting, “I’ve got some pain meds with my name on them sitting on my kitchen counter and a nice warm bed calling to me.” _Truth_ his heart beats.

“Sure” Matt agrees, licking his lips again and hating the way his body never seems to be in his control in moments like this. “No. Sure. Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ya buddy. Tomorrow.” And then he is packing up and leaving and Matt just stands there, where he had touched Foggy just a moment before, tracking his progress as he leaves the office, then leaves the building, and then walks and walks and walks and then- 

And then he is too far out of Matt’s reach unless he wants to open himself up to more, to pain, and so Matt lets him go.

He turns back to the table and to his Braille notes as he takes a seat once more. “Owlsley, Leland:” the notes read, “Financial Advisor at the prestigious firm of Silver and Brent….”

———

“The funds have been reallocated as requested,” Leland Owlsley is saying. He is an older man by the sound of his heart, slightly heavy set, He is wearing glasses, Matt can sense the way the air runs along the glass, giving him a feel for where the man's eyes and nose are. “all the arrangements made per your agreement-.” He smells of expensive cologne, ink, and paper, but all these kinds of men typically do. No, none of this is troubling. What it troubling -

“Business may continue.” Comes a reply in a voice that Matt knows a little too well and _still_ manages to send a shiver down his spine.

Master Nobu Yoshioka.

He is another wrench in what Matt had assumed he already knew of the kingpin and his little organization. If both Madame Gao and Master Yoshioka are working with this man then _why_ hadn’t he been informed? Sure they both outrank him within the Hand, Madame Gao by a level of magnitude that Matt can’t even fathom achieving in his lifetime, but they are in _Matt’s_ city, the city that the Hand gave to _him_ to control. 

So why are they working with this _Kingpin_ ? He can’t possibly be Hand _too_ can he? He certainly hasn’t heard of a Wilson Fisk in the organization but he supposes there is a chance…

Whether he is or isn’t, Matt still doesn’t like being kept in the dark and Master Yoshioka being involved is far more dangerous than Madame Gao being involved. With Madame Gao he could assume that her use of the kingpin was purely outside of Hand business. It was either that or Matt’s little side venture was just too far below her for her to care about, or even that he was performing an unspoken duty that she wanted of him. But Master Yoshioka? Matt is his _direct_ underling. If he wasn’t telling Matt something then things were looking very very bad for him indeed. 

And it very much sounded like he wasn't telling Matt something.

“So, uh, what are you going to do with it when it arrives?” Owlesy is asking which means Master Yoshioka, more specifically the _Hand,_ has something coming in. And sure, the men with Master Yoshioka right now are Yakuza given the way they are holding themselves and the guns they have concelied around their persons, but Matt isn’t stupid enough to think that this isn’t Hand business at its core. 

Matt forces himself to listen more intently.

“You’re laying out major reserves to clear the docks to make sure the police don’t come within 10 blocks. More to bribe the controllers to guarantee straight greens. Know how much all that costs? I do.” Owlesy brags but Matt only takes note of the important points. Some delivery is coming to the docks, _his_ docks, for Master Yoshioka. For the Hand. Something of high importance and he wasn’t informed.

“There is a point to all your words?” he hears Master Yoshioka ask.

“Yeah, I got a--” And then they are starting to walk, just a little, away from the Yakuza that Master Yoshioka has brought as an escort. “What happened to the Russians. We need to be careful. all of us. I look out for you. You look out for me. All i’m saying.”

Owlsely does not trust the kingpin then, which is good to know, but Matt is focused on Master Yoshioka and what his reply will be. Perhaps his answer can show him how he too feels about the man who is currently on top. 

“Each man must stand for himself.” Comes the answer which are words that echo in Matt’s mind from his training, and his mind supplies the final line before Master Yoshioka even speaks it: “Or fall with the unworthy.” 

He swallows even as Owlsey asks: “what the hell does that mean?”. Matt knows, Matt knows exactly what that means. It means pain and torure and blood and sweat and tears and scraping yourself up again and again and again because no one is going to help you up. No one is going to hold out a hand to fix you. You either pick yourself up off the floor or you die. You die, unworthy and alone. 

A shiver goes down Matt’s spine and he forces his heart to stay calm. 

\---------

Matt strikes as soon as Master Yoshioka and his Yakuza escort have left, waiting to make sure that there are no additional Hand escorts that have been there too, keeping an eye on things, but he hears no one else. He should have checked earlier. He got lucky, especially if Master Yoshioka doesn’t want him to know anything about this. 

He is on Owelsly as soon as he is about to get into his car. He is in the mask tonight and he doesn’t even have to touch the man before the guy is panicking and turning around. He must have seen Matt’s reflection on his car. Matt forces his anxiety over Master Yoshioka and the Hand away, focusing on his task. He will continue. He will continue until someone higher up tells him to stop. That is all he can do now. 

“You know what I want.” He tells Owelsy as the man's heart jumps, “Tell me about the man you work for.”

“I work for SIlver and Brent.”

Matt takes a step forward. The man’s heart picks up another notch and he lets himself get lost in that, to force away everything to do with the Hand, to focus on this instead, on this man's _fear_ on the way he shrinks back as Matt approaches. 

He lets the Devil out. Just a little. “I’m going to ask you again Mr. Owlesly. And I want you to think _real_ hard about your answer.” He lets a slow smile spread, “Who do you work for?” He knows the name the man is going to give and _oh_ is he dying to hear it. 

“I told you, I work for Silver and-” and how absolutely satisfying it is to slap the man across his face, to send him tumbling over his car. He loves it when they make this fun.

He grabs the man by his lipells and pulls him back up. “You work for Wilson Fisk.” Matt informs him and listens to that lovely panicked heart “moving his money around. Which means you have records, proof of who-” and then something breaks through him, something breaks through the Devil, and he jerks back. His head turning automatically as a familiar, _too_ _familiar_ ‘tap tap tap’, reaches his ears and suddenly he is eleven years old again and crying at his parents graves just before-

His body spasms as he is electrocuted, his mind losing that thought in favor of pain before he is collapsing to the ground and his target is fleeing. Matt tries to get his body back under control, tries to get it working again as footsteps and that ‘tap tap tapping’ approach him and he thinks, for a moment as his mind fails to register any sensory input beyond sound, that the Hand must have sent someone for him. That _this_ was his step too far. That they are mocking him with old sensory input to throw him off his defence-

And then the steps stop just by his head and a voice he hasn’t heard since he was thirteen, a voice he never thought he would hear again, says: “Well? You just going to lie there all night?” 

“Stick.” He rasps out, his voice horse and watery and he isn’t completely sure it’s all from the electrocution.

“I said,” that voice, _that voice_ , says “Are you going to lie there all night or get up off your ass?”

“You can’t be here.” Matt forces out through a throat that has become too tight even as he forces himself up, more out of muscle memory then truly wanting to, “You were dead. Are dead.” 

He hears Stick hum and, fuck. _Fuck_ . The bastard even smells the same. Matt needs to reach out, he needs to _feel._ To make sure he is actually real and not some ghost haunting him. “You of all people should know,” Stick is telling him, “that death isn’t always that permanent.”

“You’re part of the Chaste,” Matt says, as if trying to reason with this ghost as to why he should be dead. “were-are…” he flounders, trying something else “It’s been sixteen _years.”_ Matt seeths, falling back on his anger, “Where have you been?”

“A lot of places,” comes Stick's veague reply and then, a light hit. A tap of the man’s cane against his shin. Hardly anything but it’s there. It’s _real._ He is _real._

“Mind telling me why you are running around and making an enemy of your whole city here Matty?” Stick asks him and it takes Matt a moment to remember that he isn’t twelve anymore, that he is, in fact, in a parking lot dressed as The Man in the Mask. “Hell’s Kitchen hates your guts. They have you pegged as a cop killer and some kind of mad bomber.”

“I didn’t do that.” Matt automatically defends himself which is stupid, stupid, he’s done worse things for the Hand-

“No. But you’ve done other things.” Stick replies because of course he knows.

Matt grinds his teeth.

“Why are you _here_ Stick?”

He hears the hesitation in Stick’s silence before he replies, “Before the bombings and the cop killing they were calling you a hero. Someone going around _saving_ people. I’m here to ask you to help me save someone. That is, if you are willing to hear me out.” 

\--------

They go back to Matt’s place because Stick insists even as Matt hisses angrily at him, asking if he is insane. “I have soldiers,” he had tried to explain, “Hand soldiers, that watch that place constantly, they will _see_ you.” But Stick had just let out a laugh at that and said:

“They really have been keeping you in the dark haven’t they kid? None of your men are going to be there tonight. No ones watching you, or haven’t you noticed?” 

Matt had noticed, of course he had, but that wasn’t uncommon any more, not when Matt was in this Mask. He hadn’t thought much about it, besides Otomo’s unexpected absences, but now, with Stick and Master Yoshioka’s sudden appearances, he is thinking about it a lot. 

“Master Yoshioka…” He had started but couldn’t finish. beside him had Stick humed in agreement.

“Now you're starting to see the bigger picture Matty. Come on. Your place. We need to chat.” 

And so Matt had lead Stick there. Stick, a man who was supposed to be dead, a man that Matt had heard _die_ , and yet, somehow, was walking right beside him. 

The Chaste don’t do resurrections. They don’t hold that power. They are too afraid to harness it. And so Matt has to wonder _how?_ And more importantly, why _now?_

\----------

“Place is nice.” Stick says once they get into the living room and Matt carefully pulls off his mask. It doesn’t really make a difference for either of them but he is feeling stifled and off balance with it on. The Man in the Mask is not _him._ He is a lie, and right now he needs to be Matt Murdock, not the Mask.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, cautiously keeping Stick the center of his focus as if at any second the man might vanish again. 

“You had a woman in here...and a man.” 

“Ah. Ya. Ya that-” Matt cuts himself off, remembering that he didn’t owe any kind of explanation to this man about the people who came to his apartment. He swallows. “That’s none of your business.”

“When are they coming back?” Stick prompts and Matt grinds his teeth.

“I told you that is _none_ of your business.” he growls. He works hard to keep Foggy out of this part of his life, very hard, and he doesn’t need Stick of all people dragging him back in, especially after the bombing mess. 

_Stick._ Fuck.

“Look at you.” Stick replies and there is something wistful in his voice, “Protecting them. Getting defensive over them. Here you are, people in your life, furniture, an apartment, whoa-” He snaps his fingers a few times, “silk sheets.”

“Cotton feels like sandpaper on my skin.” He explains automatically, stupidly on the defensive. He bites the inside of his cheek to try and calm himself down.

“I’m not telling you off Matty. I’m proud of you-”

“ _Don’t_ !” Matt cuts in sharply, unable to take this anymore. This farce of civility over the raw bleeding edges of what this is. “Just _Don’t_ . you don’t get to say that to me. You don’t _ever_ get to say that to me you-” he chokes, “you were _dead!”_ He finally breaks, _“_ I heard your heart stop! You were _dead!_ ” 

“Ya well,” Stick says and his clothing shifts in a shrug as he moves around Matt’s coffee table, “that’s the thing about hearts Matty, they can restart.” 

“I thought you were dead!” He yells again, as if Stick hadn’t heard him the last two times.

“That makes two of us.” Stick replies, “At least one of us was happy to learn that was wrong. And it certainly doesn’t seem to be you” 

Matt takes a deep breath and forces himself not to respond to that accusation. It’s bait. He knows it is. He is not supposed to _care_ about this man or anyone else any more. It should mean _nothing_ that he is back. 

“What are you doing here Stick?” Matt forces out instead of lashing out, “Why now?”

He hears Stick sigh. He obviously hadn’t given him the reaction he wanted.

“You know why I’m here Matty,” and, oh, he sounds so old then, so tired. It’s...distressing, “The war. The never ending war. As always.”

“You know it wouldn’t be ‘never ending’ if your side just surrendered.” Matt offers but it’s only met with a snort from Stick.

“I see they managed to get to you at least that much then.”

“I was trained by the Hand for almost ten years Stick.” Matt reminds him, “I am still _part_ of the Hand.” And it comes out far angrier than Matt means it to.

“Ya? And how is that going for you?” Stick bites right back and Matt growls under his breath, “You wonder why your little lap dogs haven’t descended on me Matty? Why there is no one watching this building of yours? The Hand is keeping things from you, big things, big things that I’m here to put a stop to.” 

“You said you were here to save someone.” Matt prompts, remembering that from earlier.

“I am.” and Stick goes quiet for a long moment. “Nobu, he has a shipment coming in tonight, and judging by your reaction at that parking garage you had no idea it was happening.”

“You know what is coming in.” Matt says, surprised. It’s a statement, not a question, and with Stick here that means the shipment can only be one thing.

“A Black Sky.” Stick confirms.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath, fuck. _Fuck_ . No wonder they didn’t tell him. He wouldn’t have even told him. After what happened last time. After what he _did._ “Stick. You can’t ask this of me-” he starts but Stick is cutting him off. 

“I heard what you’ve been doing in that mask Matty. The good you’ve been doing.” 

“I haven’t been doing it to do good.” Matt tries to protest but Stick isn’t letting him get a word in edgewise

“Meaning to or not, you’ve done good anyway.” Stick shifts forward where he is sitting, the couch cushions creaking under him, “Listen to me Matty,I know the things the Hand does to kids like you. The way they have used you. Hurt you-“ 

“you don’t know shit-“ Matt tries to cut in, to put a stop to this, because he doesn’t want to _remember_ that right now-

“I always regretted that I couldn’t get to you to save you,” Stick goes on, ignoring him, “they kept such a damn close eye on you. But now-“ 

“You're reading too Much into things old man.” Matt yells over Stick’s own voice, tired of not being able to get a word in of his own. “The mask means _nothing,_ it's just an excuse to beat the shit out of people! nothing more!” 

“Is that way you let that little boy go back to his dad?” comes Stick’s unexpected response. A response that leaves Matt gaping and unable to reply. The silence that falls is deafening.

“help me tonight Matty.” Stick goes on when it becomes obvious that Matt isn’t going to answer. “If not for the kid, then at least as revenge for the Hand keeping you in the dark.” 

Matt swallows. “I can’t promise I won’t kill anyone.” 

“I figured as much. But an old man can hope.” he sighs, “Oh and Matty? We’re not trying to make a scene. Wear the mask and let's keep things quiet.”

\---------------

They are both waiting at the docks when Master Yoshioka and his men arrive and, while those that arrive with the cars are mostly Yakuza, Matt can recognize some of his own men in the mix. He reaches out his senses, tracing for their familiar presence, and realizes that they are not coming into the docks proper, but are instead taking post atop the buildings leading away from the docks. _They are creating a perimeter around the exit route_ he realizes, _making sure the road out stays free._

He searches further for Otomo and doesn’t sense him until he pays attention once more to the cars and, oh. 

Oh Otomo, you _bastard._

“How many do you read?” Stick asks from next to him and Matt tries to keep from grinding his teeth. 

“Here at the docks? There are half-a-dozen heartbeats. There are Hand ninjas though. They are lining Ma-“ he bites off the automatic honorific, it seems inappropriate given the situation, “ _Nobu_ ’s planned route out of here.”

“Your men?”

“Ya.” Matt confirms, his voice tight with restrained anger.

“I’m sorry Matty.” And oh, his heart actually sounds like he _means_ it

Matt lets out a bitter laugh, “I would say you’re not but your heartbeat says that's true. I don’t need your sympathy old man.”

“No. But you have it.” Stick responds and his heart beats _true_ one more _. “_ For what it’s worth, I had almost hoped that the Hand was taking care of you, after you got to a higher rank.”

“Ya well, they don’t work like that.” Matt grumbles.

“No?” Stick asks, disbelieving, “Tell me, if I were to kill Nobu right now, what would your orders be?”

Matt grinds his teeth and doesn’t answer. 

“Ya. That’s what I thought,” Stick snorts, because he has always hated hypocrisy, “now tell me what weapons we are dealing with.”

“MP7s with suppressors.” Matt answers, latching onto the change in topic, “Somebody want’s things quiet.”

“We’ll be quieter.” Stick tells him before grabbing some billy clubs from his bag and handing them over. “You remember how to use these?”

“You’re going to trust me with them?” Matt tries to make it teasing and hates that he only ends up sounding surprised.

“Matty, if you wanted to kill anyone down there you could do it with your bare hands just as easily.” The clubs are shoved against his side, “Take the damn clubs.”

Matt does. 

“Thin out the Herd.” Stick instructs and Matt refuses to let himself get lost in the familiarity of all of this. Refuses to remember what happened last time he was at the Hell’s Kitchen’s docks with Stick. Refuses to acknowledge the warehouse that is just a few short blocks away. He forces it all out and focuses on the job. “Keep it completely quiet. The last thing I want is to get you in trouble with the Hand. You are in too deep for that and I don’t want to ruin what you’ve built here. Keep to the shadows.”

Matt takes a deep breath, _focus._ “What are you going to do?” 

“Wait for you to take out as many men as you can before that crate gets opened and then cause a distraction to get the kid out.” 

“that’s it?” Matt asks. It sounds too simple. 

“Thats it. As soon as the fireworks start I suggest you make a run for it, keep out of sight the whole time.” Which, really, he doesn’t need to tell Matt to do that, “You’re the best of the best Matty. The Hand is terrified of you, that’s why they shipped you out here. I know you can do this.” 

Matt forces another breath, it’s painful. “Just...Don’t ask for anything like this from me again.”

“I won’t.” Stick promises but his heart beats a lie, “We’ll meet back at your place when all this is done. Given the mess we are about to make I am certain no one will be there to spy on you again anytime soon. Go.”

And Matt does.

\-----------------

There is no fight. Matt moves between crates silently, grabbing Yakuza members as he goes and choking them out until they collapse before moving onto the next. There are no Hand operatives here besides Nobu and Otomo but both are focused on the incoming shipping container and Matt is very careful to avoid either of them.

He’s managed to drop half the Yakuza when the crate is opened and Matt is only able to sense the shape of The Black Sky for a moment before there is a loud ‘thunk’ and ‘hiss’. The smell of smoke filling the air. Matt bites back a laugh. Smoke bomb, really? And then he is moving.

He manages to take out two more men but he can already sense that Stick has gotten to the Black Sky and sedated the kid which means it’s time for him to go. It’s an easy escape, down into the water to let it carry him further along the docks before making his way home.

All and all it was a clean execution but Matt finds himself conflicted on whether or not he wants Stick to have made it out alive once more.

—————

Matt is fresh out of the shower having scribed himself down as much as he could to get the Hudson River off his skin, when Stick shows back up.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He says, trying for annoyance and falling into casual instead as he dries off his hair with a towel. He pushes past stick into his kitchen, digging around for a beer he feels like he needs after all of this.

“I won’t stick around for long.” Stick offers casually enough. He sounds fine, healthy, there isn’t even a drop of blood on him. “just wanted to let you know I got the kid out. The Hand probably won’t be telling you as much since they didn’t bother telling you he was coming in the first place.” 

“What are you going to do with him?” He asks, popping the cap off on the corner of the counter and listening as it skitters away. 

“Same thing I do with every ‘black sky’ they try to create.” He hears Stick move forward and takes a long drink of his beer, “Take him somewhere safe. Give him some proper care. Proper training. Give him a life. Deprogram him as best I can.” 

Matt pulls the beer from his lips with a ‘pop’ and does his very best not to start ripping off the label in frustration.

“I think you should leave.” He says instead of what he really wants to because he’s not sure he can get it out without choking.

“Ya probably.” Stick replies, shifting where he stands, his cane sliding slightly against the floor. “I can hear your little lapdog making his way back here.” 

Matt feels his anger flare at that, hot and bright and overwhelming and when he slams his beer bottle down on the counter it shatters under his hand. “This is my life,” he yells, ignoring the sting of glass in his palm, “my life without you! You don’t get to _talk_ about it like that! About _them_ like that!” He stalked forward and poked an angry finger against Sticks chest 

“I’ve been forced to claw my way up, again and again, and here I am! Up-and-coming Hand agent and head of the New York branch! But That pisses you off, doesn't it?” He bites out bitterly, baring his teeth even though he knows Stick can’t see it, “That they managed to snatch me away, that they managed to turn me into _this?_ ” And he wants to yell, to scream ‘ _where is your rehabilitation for me?! Do I not matter anymore?’_ But his throat closes around the words and all that comes out is a snarl. 

“No Matty.” Stick sighs and Matt feels Stick’s hand wrap around his wrist, pulling it away from him. “No. it just makes me sad.” He admits and it _hurts_ because Sticks heart beats ‘true’ “But I’m proud of you too, I really am. The thing’s you have done, what you have made of yourself outside of the Hand. Outside of the war. What you’ve managed to do without me. The humanity you’ve managed to preserve.” And he senses Stick’s other hand moving but he doesn’t pull away even as he feels it land on the back of his neck, pulling him forward into a stiff hug. “I had been so worried, Matty, when I found out what had happened to you. That you had been taken-”

“You didn’t know?” He tries to make his voice angry but fails. He tries to force himself to pull away from the hug but fails at that too. Instead he just stands tense in Stick’s hold, feeling his chest contract all the more. 

“No. No I didn’t. I was in a coma for a while. A long while, and when I awoke, well,” he feels the breath Stick sighs out against his neck, “there was no trace of you. Rumor had it you had been killed and the Hand...Well they kept you really close to their chest.”

“They didn’t want another _you_.” Matt replied, his voice slightly muffled as his body finally started to relax. Just a little.

“Ya I just bet they didn’t” he felt Stick laugh, the hand at the back of his neck finally letting go as Stick moved away once more. “You have friends Matty? People you care about?”

Matt doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. But Stick has always been able to read him a little too well. 

“I’m glad. I’m glad that some part of you managed to survive through your Hand training.”

“You realize how stupid that sounds don’t you?” He asks and his voice sounds raw, he tries to force it back to some kind of normality but he knows he fails, “I have one person Stick, _one_ and every day. Ever fucking day I-” He chokes back a sob which he hadn’t even realized had been building, it was probably that damn hug. “If I was smart. If I was smart I would cut him loose. I would break every tie to him, make it so painful he couldn’t even _look_ at me again and let him go because,” He lets out a bitter laugh, “because in the end, all I am going to do is get him tortured and killed.

Do you tell all your little black sky rescues that Stick?” And he knows it comes out bitter, his anger building once more as his hand finally starts to register the pain of the glass in it, “do you tell them that the moment the Hand finds them again that any _semblance_ of life that they have managed to cobble together will be crushed and killed and destroyed? Do you tell them that Stick!?” 

“There is always a danger to life Matty.” Comes Stick’s solemn reply, “that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth living.”

Matt grinds his teeth and clenches his fists, digging the glass deeper, “Get out of my city.” He orders and He’s proud that it sounds just as angry as he feels.

He senses Stick nod as the man backs away, his hand pausing for just a second to place something on the counter. “Take care of yourself Matty. Take care.”

Matt doesn’t move until he hears the door close with a soft click and then he very carefully reaches out for the object Stick places on the counter. His bloody fingers meet braided paper, old and softened with time, and this time he can’t keep the choked sobs from coming. Once they do, well, he can’t seem to get them to stop. He thinks maybe they never will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that this chat is a bit of a stand alone I decided to go ahead an post it earlier then planned~
> 
> This does mean that the wait for the next chapter will still be a while, but for now, I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
